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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years ago

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I was asked to search for a missing Norwegian girl caught up in the Moonies – Petra

▲ Me as an au pair in 1989.

In the mid 1980’s at the age of 21, I was an au pair in California, United States. I lived in Mill Valley, a fancy neighborhood north of the Golden Gate bridge.

In my free time I used to go to the Swedish Church, located on Hyde Street between Lombard Street and Fisherman’s Wharf, in downtown San Francisco. The church was a safe haven for au pairs and other folks from Europe who had gone out to explore the big world.

One day I stumbled into two Norwegian siblings who had come to the States to look for their younger sister. Some years before she had been caught up in a Korean cult called the Unification Church and they were very concerned about her well-being since they’d lost all contact with her.

▲ Mr. and Mrs. Moon greet the Russian president Mikhail Gorbachev and his wife Raisa. A handshake that according to the movement legitimized Sun Myung Moon as being the Messiah.

Sun Myung Moon founded the Unification Church. He passed away in 2012; he was a self-proclaimed Messiah who said he had met the biblical Jesus and now had his mandate to establish God’s Kingdom on earth. [ LINK to Moon and Jesus ]

As a Moonie you serve Mr. Moon, also referred to as ‘True Father’. You do this by recruiting new members, raising money to the movement and eventually you marry a partner chosen by Mr. Moon.

A true win win-situation for the cult.  If you are truly blessed you can give away your children through adoption. This is a true win-win situation, because by doing so a childless couple somewhere out there finally becomes a real family and you can once again give ‘True Father’ your full attention without the distraction of a child. This is the ultimate proof of love and devotion.

The cult had a recruiting base downtown and a training camp in the mountains a few hours’ drive north of San Francisco. Since the siblings would not be welcome into the cult’s surroundings, they asked me if I wanted to make my way into the organization by allowing myself ‘to be recruited’ by the cult. Hopefully, on the inside, I would be able to locate their sister, so that they could take action and arrange for her to be kidnapped and deprogrammed by a special team that was standing by. And oh, could I barely wait!

The Preparation I prepared myself by watching interviews with ex-members on videotape so that I knew what special treatment I could expect.

I learned about how love-bombing – overwhelming and unmotivated love and attention – in combination with little sleep and a tight schedule would serve their purpose to indoctrinate me and make me one of them.

I also met with psychologists and deprogrammers who showed me things I should be aware of, and take precautions against.

The plan was simple.

We would arrange for me to be picked up by a Moonie in Union Square in downtown San Francisco – a place where they recruit many new members. I would then agree to come along to their student camp in the mountains.

▲ Union Square in San Francisco

Once in the camp I would take a lot of pictures, without attracting unnecessary attention. Lots of parents around the world had children hidden in the cult, and if I could return with picture proof that their sons and daughters were in the camp, captors stood ready to steal back the young people to their families.

Most important of all was that I went home when the weekend camp was over. I was under no circumstances allowed to stay after the four day long camp ended. Though, I was told that both the car and the phone were always ‘broken’ on the last evening of the camp – to prevent people from leaving. The reason was simply that they occasionally needed more time to break some of the visitor’s mental defenses.

The Recruitment 

One Saturday we got to work. I dressed myself typically Swedish (neon-colored shorts), took a visible stand at the square, unfolded a big tourist map and waited. All supervised by the kidnappers who stood at a safe distance.

After approximately 15-20 minutes I hear a voice behind me; ”Hello?” I turned around and meet Ted for the first time, my ticket into the Unification Church. By coincidence the next camp started next Thursday

Did I need help, I seemed lost? Was I only passing through? Ah, I came from Sweden, that’s sounds nice. Ted told me that he belonged to an international Student organization. And by the way, would I be interested in sharing a cup of coffee at their office nearby?

 A few hours later I had finished my coffee, seen the picture of the Organization’s founder on the wall and met countless of smiling students who all spoke inspiringly of a camp in the mountains.

By coincidence the next camp started next Thursday. Ted asked me if I wanted to come along. Of course I wanted.

After a few hours’ drive in an old minivan filled with young people, we reached our destination – Maacama Hill.

▲ The girls’ building at Camp K, Maacama Hills

▲ The kitchen at Camp K

The pace was rapid right from the start with early mornings, late nights, and intense activities all day long. I was not left alone for one second.

New boys were constantly shown attention by the sweetest Moonie girls — and new girls shown the same by the most charming Moonie boys.

▲ Camp K leaders, Susan on the left.

As time went by, the small talk more and more turned towards existential questions. Had I ever thought about the meaning of life? Was I satisfied with my life?

Then we were introduced to the first lecture in the class room. Participation was voluntary, of course, but not going to the lectures was simply not an option.

Soon we spent more time in the classroom than we did on the volleyball court. The purpose of the teaching was to prove that Sun Myung Moon was the new Messiah.

Now it was getting really hard to do this spy thing. It was emotionally hard. I felt as if I was betraying the new young people in the camp since I saw them becoming prey for the cult without being able to warn them. But how could I?

I had been sent into the camp with a mission and I simply could not reveal my true identity without endangering my assignment.

And besides, what would the leaders do if they found out I was a spy? My quest was to take as many pictures as possible, lay low and get a ride home on Sunday night. Period.

▲ Lecture on the Divine Principle: “Jesus failed, since he died on the cross, right? So a new Messiah would have to complete the Mission, right?” (Picture: HERE)

Everything became more intense as we got closer to Sunday. The generally held “Good to see you” songs at breakfast were replaced by religious songs with lyrics about the ‘True Father’. A short prayer was held before every meal and the discussions became more personal and intrusive, the breaks got shorter and the lessons longer.

On the Saturday evening we had a barbecue on the river bed. When all the sausage and marshmallows were eaten, there was a revival meeting.

▲ I am wedged between two Moonie friends. (Picture: HERE)

Two dark-haired sisters sang religious songs with empathy, and with tears running down their cheeks, they explained how they had found the true meaning of life in the Unification Church.

▲ Happy sisters. (Picture: HERE)

Then one of the leaders gave a short sermon with such passion that the fire next to him faded in comparison.

▲ Camp K mini-store

______________________________

How did Petra get out?

Full story and more photos:

https://petrahellsing.wordpress.com/2015/06/24/search-for-a-moonie/

______________________________

Camp K, aka Maacama Hill, Unification Church recruitment camp

Moonwebs by Josh Freed (the book was made into a movie)

Crazy for God: The nightmare of cult life by Christopher Edwards

Ford Greene – the former Moonie became an attorney

My Time with the Oakland Family Moonies – by Peter from New Zealand

Testimony of Ingo Michehl – assault by Japanese leader caused lung collapse

The Moonie recruitment camps in Northern California

Resources for Recovering from Cults and Abusive Relationships

‘Misunderstanding Cults’ book  – Introduction and chapters by Benjamin Beit-Hallami and by Benjamin Zablocki

#Petra #Camp K #Moonies #Sun Myung Moon #Unification Church #deceptive recruitment #coercion

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years ago

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Prompt: “A bold move to show your face here in the shadows of night.” With any of the DR characters :3 (or maybe Caesar and Johann :3)

The Day of Liberty was always high stakes. Caesar Gattuso looked forward to it every year. It was his day to reassert his greatness by defeating his one and only serious rival, Chu Zihang by demolishing his club, Lionheart.

For years, Caesar’s Student Union had won the favor of the other student societies on the campus with the promise of luxury, prestige, and funding as well as an established position after graduation. It seemed to be an easy choice. Lionheart’s leader was reclusive, soft spoken and solitary. He wasn’t entirely concerned with making a name for himself other than adhering to his own personal set of ethics. When comparing the two, Student Union seemed to be an easy choice.

As few as they were, however, those who chose Lionheart were usually the ones who had met Chu Zihang personally. Even Caesar had to admit that the man was unconsciously charismatic. Once someone joined Lionheart, they wouldn’t so much as look at a Student Union application.

It didn’t matter to him that it was the original club that was founded by Cassell. As far as he was concerned, if it wasn’t strong enough to stand, it didn’t deserve to exist at all.

With that in mind, this year, he sent a message by one of his club members to the Lionheart club. It was an open letter challenge. This time, he would bet the entirety of his club on his win. The losing club would be forced to disband.

The message shook the ranks of Lionheart. Caesar, who had always been charitable to rivals, had finally decided to crush Lionheart once and for all.

Caesar penned his final challenge to Lionheart, and it was accepted immediately. Caesar understood that this enemy would fight to the bitter end. And he preferred it that way.

At Amber Hall, spotlights shown high into the night sky and music blared from a DJ booth. Student Union members gathered in gowns and their best tuxedos, champagne flowed freely. Caesar stood among it all, Nono yawning on his arm and looking bored.

“President! Sir!” A drunk and swaying member of the cartography guild staggered up to him. “I just want to congratulate you on your win! This is historic! You’ll be the only club on campus.”

Caesar grinned and threw a steadying arm around him. “Thank you for being a supporter. Without you I couldn’t have gotten this far.”

The man blushed. “I can’t really accept that sir. All I do is make maps…”

“And those maps were key in plotting our strategy these past three years. Don’t sell yourself short.” Caesar’s eyes twinkled like sapphires. “You deserve congratulations. And so does everyone else here!”

A few people in earshot raised their glasses to the ceiling. “To Caesar! To the Gattusos! To Student Union!” They shouted.

Caesar lightly shoved the cartography leader back into the crowd with a low chuckled.

Nono filled her lungs and sighed. “Well, you finally did it. Are you happy?”

“Not really,” he murmured. “To be honest… I thought it was going to be a lot harder. At least, I have only one more year after this. It’s a shame it will be the most boring year of my life. Cassell College was to be this great institution but…” He looked around before his eyes fell on her. “Other than you? There’s too much room for improvement.”

“My last challenge will be assimilating Lionheart into the Student Union.”

Nono chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “You know how loyal Lionheart members are to Chu Zihang. They would sooner leave the College entirely than leave him.”

Caesar sipped from his glass, staring out over the crowd.

“Are you going to attempt to recruit him?” He didn’t laugh with her. “Caesar?”

Caesar continued to look out over the crowd, his eyes far away, gazing out the window towards the Lionheart headquarters. Inside his heart, he had given Chu Zihang one last chance and he wanted him to take it, more than he cared to admit.

Within the Lionheart Hall, Susie and Lancelot leaned over their inventory of supplies and ammunition. “We have more than enough Frigga bullets for everyone. They’ll be stacked five high at our gate.”

Lancelot took the phone from his ear. “Moreland isn’t responding. My guess is he’s going to surrender to Student Union. Not that I blame him. I wonder if Caesar’s even going to bother leaving Amber Hall. He’s got enough people to swarm this place. All we can do is try to hold them off as long as possible. They outnumber us ten to one.”

Lancelot joined Susie at the table. “Lionheart had a good run. I for one am going to take down as many as I can.”

Footsteps were heard approaching the central room and both turned to look. Chu Zihang was like a shadow in the doorway, his amber eyes like lamps in the dark. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes sir.” Lancelot stepped to one side to let Zihang examine the plans.

The man’s eyes lowered, taking in everything in a glance. “We’re staying here?”

“We’d fall in a hail of bullets out there. We ran every scenario. They’ll have us surrounded, flanked, cut off from each other. There’s just too many of them.” Lancelot replied.

“We’ll win by staying here?”

Lancelot and Susie exchanged glances. Lancelot gently continued, “Sir… with all due respect, winning… isn’t exactly in the cards.”

“Then your goal is to extend the life of Lionheart for a few more hours.”

Lancelot sighed, clenched his teeth and slammed his fist against the table. “I feel so bad that it's come to this. I understand why you took Caesar’s bet but… Why did he have to make it? I love this club! I don’t want to give it up. I hate thinking that we’re going to lose before we even fight but what else am I supposed to think?”

“That’s a yes then…” Chu Zihang watched as his loyal second in command nodded slowly. He placed one hand on his shoulder and squeezed it in a tight grip. “This is a fine plan Lancelot. You did your best.”

Lancelot’s throat closed and his eyes teared up. He just shook his head, unable to speak.

“That’s why I regret to tell you that I will not be accepting it. We can’t win this way.”

Lancelot gave a short laugh and Zihang returned his smile. “Longevity has never been a goal of mine.”

“I understand that I have almost no chance of winning. If anyone doesn’t wish to join me in this fight, they’re free to stay behind. However, whoever wants to join me. Have them meet with me in the entry hall in 20 minutes. Susie… let everyone know.”

Chu Zihang walked towards the entry, leaving Lancelot and Susie staring wide eyed at each other.

20 minutes later, every Lionheart member had shown up at the entry with even the previously AWOL Moreland making it.

“I’ll need twenty five of you to cross the plaza at ten minutes to the stroke of midnight and take a position near the Hall of Valor. Stay there and wait for my instructions. Susie, you take one half of the remainder, Lancelot take the other half and position yourselves on either side of Amber Hall.”

“The Day of Liberty begins on the stroke of midnight. As soon as the last bell tolls…” Zihang spoke quietly and so the crowd surrounding him were completely hushed, hanging on his every last word.

Zihang opened the map that Lancelot and Susie had been working with.

“Don’t they have scouts everywhere?”

“Presumably.” Chu Zihang replied. “The twenty five will be enough to draw their attention. Make sure they are wearing their uniforms. Hm…” he thought a moment.

“Taunt them?” Another piped up.

“Don’t be too obvious.”

A gentle chuckle rumbled through the group as they realized what Chu Zihang might be up to.

“Susie, Lancelot, you two leave out the back entrance, go in opposite directions, take the long route around campus. Don’t let yourselves be seen. Gather on opposite sides of the building. Lancelot, you enter first take out everyone you can, set up positions facing out. Susie, stay outside and keep a group with you to keep others from getting in.”

“And you sir?” Susie asked.

“Don’t worry about me.” He turned to her. “No matter what, when you see me lower my sword, open fire with everything you have.”

-------

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, it began to rain. The outdoor pavilion emptied into the building and people were now milling about on the dance floor. Caesar’s mood dipped lower and lower. Caesar was a warrior. There was nothing quite as good as the fiery battlefield to him, and nothing quite as boring and anticlimactic as a siege.

All night, there had been little movement out of the Lionheart club.

He sat at the head of a banquet table, swirling his wine but not drinking it. Nono was silent at his side, valiantly trying and failing to keep him from noticing that she was nodding off.

Then someone shouted. “Hey! Something’s happening at Lionheart!”

A series of windows had a great view of the campus, including the rival club. The Student Union members crowded them, eager to get a look at what their rivals could be getting up to.

“There’s so few of them?”

“Are they giving up?”

They moved aside as Caesar Gattuso approached the window with his wine. It had started to rain steadily but the Lionheart members were identifiable even at this distance. They were all dressed in tactical gear in Lionheart uniforms.

.His phone rang.

“They’re headed to the church.” Came the voice over the receiver.

“We have enough positions there, they’re not a threat. Keep me posted on their movements.”

A loud commotion erupted near the entrance of the banquet hall.

“Hey! What are you doing here? You’re not allowed in here!”

Caesar turned. His phalanx of body guards had surrounded a familiar figure dressed in a dark trench coat, a sword sheathed at his side. Caesar’s heart raced when their eyes locked. He felt an overwhelming thrill, his mood lifting from the depths and soaring high!

“A bold move to show your face here in the shadows of night. Did you come here to give up before the fight’s even started?” He bellowed, standing up.

The other Student Union members were confused at Caesar’s enthusiastic greeting and fell silent. In the lull of noise, Chu Zihang got right to the point. “No. I’ve come here to say that I won’t make you disband your club even though that is in the terms of our agreement..”

Disbelief and shock at those words silenced the entire hall. But in another moment, the banquet hall erupted into roars of uncontrollable mocking laughter. Some could barely stand up, leaning over and banging on tables, tears coming to their eyes. Even the bodyguards squinted and smirked, wondering if the Lionheart Leader had lost his mind in his defeat. Meanwhile, Chu Zihang never took his eyes off his rival.

Nono looked up at Caesar, covered one mouth with her hand and backed away a bit, crossing her arms.

It took a few moments as people glanced over at Gattuso and realized he wasn’t laughing. A cold, icy stillness had come over him as he stared down his rival. His eyes snapped with such a fearsome anger that the minute he glanced at someone, their mouth shut and the color drained from their face and ladies stepped quietly behind their men.

Out of any other person, those words would seem like a joke.

But Chu Zihang didn’t joke.

Once his club mates were subdued, Caesar opened his arms in a magnanimous gesture of welcome. “There’s still a few more minutes before the fight begins. Until then, Chu Zihang, you’re free to drink at my table.”

A strange, wild light flared in Caesar’s eyes. Some wondered if he was drunk by the way he approached Chu Zihang openly while the others started to reach for their weapons. Some wondered if the wine given Chu Zihang would be poisoned.

All eyes were on Chu Zihang as he made his way to the table and on the small group of students setting up under the church tower.

The clock struck twelve. The sound of the bells, the rain and the wind whipping through the campus, masked the approach of Lionheart from the east and west entrances of Amber Hall.

Chu Zihang and Caesar Gattuso watched the wine fill up the wine glass between them, neither willing to take their eyes off the other. At the final toll of the bells, Caesar drew his weapons in an instant, but Chu Zihang was quicker, drawing his blade in an arc of light and slashing the bottle in half, sending the wine spraying into his face.

The other guests drew their weapons to defend their leader just as the Lionheart Club burst into the banquet hall from two sides.

Crowded and barely able to maneuver, more Student Union members were cut down by friendly fire than by Lionheart members. Not all of the Student Union had bothered to even arm themselves and were taken out without a fight. From outside the hall, there was nothing but the sound of the screams and gunfire, something out of the assassination of a royal family. It was mayhem.

A slaughter.

Outside of Amber Hall, the attack was so sudden that the waiting outside scout groups wondered if the party had just intensified. Instructed to keep their eyes on the Lionheart members at the church, they stayed watching, not even bothering to call in. Assured of victory, most of the Student Union had gone to the party. Those stuck watching the outside were a much smaller group.

Finally, word got out that Lionheart had struck at the headquarters of Student Union and the scattered club members poured out to the fight.

But their hesitancy had lost valuable time. By then Lionheart was already entrenched in Amber Hall. Lancelot sent his group to the windows. The rushed and disorganized approach to the building was met by a wall of fearsome gunfire.

The twenty five members waiting next to the church, rallied and attacked the bedraggled group from behind, scattering them.

But the Student Union wasn’t done.

Nono rushed away, followed by a trail of bullet holes in the century old plaster. She dove and rolled behind a bus table, grabbed a fallen member’s gun and fired from behind it, felling three Lionheart in three shots, before being forced to duck behind cover again.

Pinned, she looked around and then looked up. The large banquet Chandlier shined like a sun above her. She shook her head as she imagined the look on Manstein’s face before aiming her gun at the supporting golden chains.

She fired once and it rocked, twice and it jerked lower.

One the third try, her gun clicked empty. Hissing curses she tossed it aside. A serving platter would serve nicely as a shield. She grabbed it from the bus table and dashed out of cover, the Frigga bullets leaving a trail of crimson liquid running down it.

She dashed up the stairs towards the mezzanine.

From her vantage point, she could see Caesar and Chu Zihang locked in combat. A few Lionheart members were aiming at them, but it was impossible to get a clean shot. They were a blur of motion. Caesar pressed the offensive, cutting his blade at his nimble opponent’s neck with a power that stopped her short.

The Day of Liberty was not meant to be a lethal contest.

Zihang’s eyes kept their practiced detachment. He was not counter attacking, content to dodge and occasionally parry. He leaped behind a table to evade a thrust, knocking it over with a powerful kick, the crash of thousands of dollars worth of food seemed to wake him up. He paused, and realized he was surrounded, a dozen guns pointed straight at him.

Nono took her chance, and took a flying leap off the mezzanine and grasped the massive chandelier. Her weight was the last straw needed to send the metal structure, weighing hundreds of pounds, down onto the Lionheart members. In a second of descent it smashed into the ground sending crystal shards in all directions. Lionheart scrambled to get out of the way.

The banquet hall went dark and in the confusion, she dove on them like a lioness, knocking the Lionheart members out of the fight with a vengeance. Caesar and Zihang circled each other, taking a moment to regain their stamina.

“You don’t disappoint. I’m going to really miss this.” Caesar murmured.

Zihang was unmoved. “This was only possible thanks to your carelessness.”

Caesar snorted. “Even at my most careless, you barely stand a chance. For the past three years, you couldn’t eke out a single win. I wanted to give you every chance. I would have been disappointed if you didn’t take it.”

“It’s clear that Lionheart doesn’t deserve to exist. Any last words, Chu Zihang?” He asked, leveling his Desert Eagles at him.

Chu Zihang lowered his sword.

The glass next him shattered. Susie’s wing of fighters were still outside, fresh and ready, waiting for that one signal. Caesar hadn’t counted on the outside force on the opposite side of the building that were waiting just for him.

With that, taken off guard, panicked and with the complete loss of their leadership the Student Union forces evaporated. The weakened forces were like carrion for the galvanized Lionheart members who fell on their scattered ranks with the same mercilessness that they’d been dealt over the years.

And yet no one touched Nono, who wearily walked over to Caesar’s prone body and tipped him face up with the toe of her heeled shoe.

Then she looked at Chu Zihang. He was staggered, leaning against the wall, the red blood-like marks of Frigga bullets dotting his clothing. His breathing was labored.

Despite the powerful drugs coursing through his system, he was upright, eyes open, fighting the unconsciousness by raising his dragonblood purity through blood rage. Even then, he was visibly shaking.

He looked at her, one hand still on his sword despite everything.

“Don’t make me shoot you again, Nono.” Susie’s voice came from outside. “There’s enough of us to take you out easily.”

Nono casually tossed her pistol aside and laughed. “Far be it from me to get between my boyfriend and his one true love.”

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fiction-fun · 4 years ago

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A Loving Headline

@braidedchallah @alexanderdamnhethin @creedtheconquer @rthoney @andpeggy21 @pixiepip @little-nymph-claro @haha-gunsgoburrr @hamiltimes

Fandom: Newsies the musical

Pairing: Jack/Oc

Words: 6526

I blinked open my eyes and stood quickly, pulling my vest tight around me and tucking my hair up under my hat. I reached down and shook the kid’s shoulders.

“Come on, little ones. Time to go see Ms. Medda Larkin.” I said softly.

The kids groaned but stood up getting ready for the day. I grabbed my paper bag and made sure I had enough on me for the hundred I’d be getting that day. I took Bea’s hand and lifted Ry into my arms before walking quickly down the fire escape and out of the alley. I took a look around before running across the street and ducking back behind the theatre. I knocked quickly still looking over my shoulder.

“Ley! There you are, I was getting worried.” Medda said opening the door.

I smiled softly and passed her Ry before lifting Bea up into the doorway.

“They didn’t wanna get up today. I gotta go, Jack'll never let me live it down if 'e beats me to the gate! I’ll sees yous two later, behave!” I called before turning and racing away.

I slid around the corner getting to the gate and catching my breath seconds before Jack and Crutchie walked up.

“Ley, how you always beat us here.” Jack said shaking his head and smirking at me.

I laughed sharply.

“Maybe someday you’ll be able to beat me. Not likely, but maybe.” I said a smirk curling my lips.

Jack laughed a bit at that before stopping and turning to the gate, the others coming around us. We stood watching the board.

“Whatcha think it’s gonna be today?” Someone asked behind me.

Jack shrugged and turned his head slightly.

“Doesn’t matter, if I don’t like it, I’ll just change it.” Jack said his solution to most things.

I shook my head and closed my eyes.

“I just hope it’s not the rail strike, again.” I muttered.

Those had been hard papers to sell lately. I heard murmured agreements and even Jack was nodding along. We all groaned as the board lit up.

“Rail strike enters week three! Great.” I heard muttered behind me.

The two goons opened the gate and we entered, forming the line.

“Hey Weasel!” Jack called.

We all laughed.

“It’s Wiesel!” the paper pusher called.

Jack shrugged and took his stack; I slapped my money done and shot him a look.

“Weasel, my man!” I shouted.

I walked over and grabbed my stack, high giving Jack as I did.

“Hey, weasel!” Crutchie continued the call.

I laughed and high fives him too. The kids behind Crutchie were new though.

“You could at least call me Mr.” Wiesel said with a gruff.

The kid behind Crutchie put his coin down.

“20 papers please, Mr. Wiesel.” He said as a younger boy darted over to us and grabbed a paper bag.

I looked at him and closed my eyes, he was barely older than Bea and Ry. I knew Jack saw it as an opportunity.

“Fifty more papes for the new kids!” jack said slapping a coin down.

The kid tried to fight him over it but his younger brother struck up a deal with Jack and I laughed when they shook.

“That’s disgusting.” Davey said pulling a face as Jack helped Les down.

“No, that’s how we do business. Good luck, I’m off.” I called sticking a hand up and walking away.

I went around and sold my papes the best I could, falling three short by the time my area cleared out. I sighed softly as I counted the money in my hands.

'Well, they’ll get to eat. ‘I thought as I headed back towards the theatre, seeing Jack, Davey and Les race in.

I looked and saw Snyder chasing them. I ducked back into the shadows praying they would keep me from being seen. I let out a breath and raced across the street when I was sure he was gone. I yanked open the back door and jumped in.

“Snyder after you again, Jack?” Medda was asking.

I saw Jack nod and look up I gave him a glare.

“Ya almost led him right to me!” I growled walking over to him.

His eyes went wide, and he backed up a step.

“Now, let’s not do nothin' hasty!” Jack said hands up.

I glared at him before turning back to Medda.

“Hey Ms. Medda, where are they?” I asked looking around.

She opened her mouth just as I heard two sets of feet racing towards me. I dropped to my knees and caught them hugging them tightly.

“Thanks for letting them stay here.” I said looking up at her.

“Anything for you Ley, you two know you’re always welcome.” She said smiling.

We ended up staying for a show before heading back out, Jack had tried to convince us to stay but I still had to get the kids food. I got them food quickly before we ducked back into the small hole we had found. The next morning, we repeated the morning. I got to the gate and waited, Jack and Crutchie joining me minutes later.

“Let’s hope.” I muttered.

The others nodded, and muttered agreements. All noise stopped when we saw the board.

“Prices raised for paperboys! Sixty cents a hundred?” someone read out.

We all turned to Jack; he was our leader.

“They can’t do that can they Jack?” was a common question I heard.

Jack laughed and shook his head.

“Nah! They’re just yanking us!” Jack said and that seemed to reassure everyone.

We formed a line and Jack slapped his coins down.

“Hundred papes!” he called.

Wiesel laughed meanly.

“It’s 60¢ for the hundred, Jack.” He called a cold cruel grin on his face.

Jack backed up and our line broke. He sat heavily on a crate and the others crowded him, until Les made them back up.

“Jack, you still thinkin'?” Les asked a few seconds later.

Jack nodded and then waved us in.

“We just ain’t gonna sell them, and we ain’t gonna let nobody else sell them either!” Jack declared.

Jack and Davey got into an argument about what a Union needs and how to go on strike. I swallowed feeling the ice slide down my back.

“Jack.” I called; he had just declared the strike.

He looked up at me, his eyes widening a bit, he waved me over to the truck.

“Go ahead, we won’t blame you. You gots responsibilities.” He said.

The others all started to throw a fit as I slowly walked over to the truck setting the sixty cents down to take my hundred. I kept my head down as I walked back passed the boys.

“Ley!” I paused at Jack’s voice.

I turned and looked at him.

“Don’t worry none.” He said and I gave a small smile before moving out into the city to sell my papers.

Each one I sold felt wrong, but I had to. I sold out and still had barely enough to get us all food.

‘I’ll go without tonight, so we have a little buffer in case I don’t sell enough tomorrow.’ I thought as I trudged back to the theatre.

I got the kids and we got food, then I got them back to the safe spot and got them laid down. I heard it then.

“Ry, buddy did ya just snuffle?” I asked crouching down to look at him.

I had already taken my hat and vest off, letting my hair fall down my back. The little boy nodded and snuffled again, I reached out and felt his forehead, flinching at the warmth I found. I sighed and leaned back, quickly tugging my vest on, and tucking my hair back into my hat.

“Stay here and don’t make a sound, don’t come out until I get back got me?” I asked softly.

Both kids nodded and I ducked out of the hole, running to the corner pharmacy looking through the medicine there.

'So much for a buffer.” I bit my lip as I tried to decide.

If I got the one, I knew would work it would wipe out the money I had left and make it so I couldn’t get a hundred papes tomorrow. I turned and looked trying to see if there were any other options. I reached my hand up and then hesitated.

“Are you buying something?” the counter person asked.

I looked at them for a second before looking down.

“Let me go get more money, the prices are different than what I remember.” I muttered as I turned and ran from the shop.

But I didn’t go back to the kids, I don’t know why, but I headed towards where Jack stayed. I stopped seeing him talking with that reporter lady from the other day.

“We’re counting on you, Katherine!” Jack called as she walked away.

I almost walked away; I knew Jack understood why I had to sell….but I still felt bad.

“Ley?” Jack asked turning and seeing me.

I looked up at him and waved slightly. He gave me a concerned look; he could always read me. He walked over and took my arm, leading me to the stairs, he was the only one who knew the truth.

“What’s wrong, Kaley?” he asked his voice dropped low enough no one else would hear.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip again.

‘Besides you flirting with the reporter girl?’ I thought before shaking it off.

“Ry is…is sick. And I didn’t make enough today to feed us and get his medicine. I already went without, so we’d have some incase somethin' else happened but the medicine, Jack it’s so much.” I said my voice cracking.

Jack watched me for a second before hugging me gently, that’s what was nice about Jack. He was all rough and tumble during the day but if you needed him, he was there for you.

“How much?” he asked voice soft.

I took a breath.

“25¢, I…I got most of it but it’ll wipe out any kind of buffer we had. But I have to get it! I swore I’d protect those kids.” I said my voice shaking slightly.

Jack patted my shoulder and stood up; I closed my eyes.

'He's mad, he won’t help. Why would he? I still sold; I broke us up during something so important!’ I thought.

My thoughts were cut off when I felt Jack take my hand and press a coin into it.

“Jack…I…” I said my voice wavering.

He shook his head and waved off my words.

“No, you get that medicine, and you pay me back later. If anyone knows what it takes to survive out here it’s you and me. Now, I know you’re all up in your head but, I ain’t mad atcha. I know what you gotta do, the others ain’t so happy with you, but they stopped bitchin' when I told ‘em to. Now go.” Jack said.

I stood up and hugged him quickly.

“Thank you.” I whispered before racing back off to the Pharmacy.

I ran inside and grabbed the bottle of medicine before going to the counter.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come back.” The person made no attempt to hide his disdain for me.

“Just this thanks.” I said a fake smile on my face.

He sighed and rung up the medicine, I paid quickly taking the brown bag and running from the shop. I took a long winding way back, just in case he watching me to try and send Snyder the Spider after me. I got back to the safe spot and ducked inside.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok guys. It’s just me.” I said crouching in front of them.

I tugged my cap off and pulled the medicine from the bag, I had read it in the shop and poured just the right amount into a cup for Ry. I gave it to him and he made a face.

“Now get some sleep buddy.” I whispered before settling down next to them.

I tugged off my vest and spread it over top of them, giving them a little more warmth. The next morning, I woke up early and let them sleep in for a minute with a sigh, looking at the sky as it slowly went from dark inky black to a lighter grey.

“Kay?” I heard a soft voice and turned my head seeing Ry sitting up, Bea behind him.

I smiled gently.

“Hey buddy, how are you feeling?” I asked as I grabbed the bottle and poured another dose for him.

Ry sniffled again and shrugged. I frowned softly and felt his forehead again before giving him the medicine.

'Maybe Ms. Medda will let us stay in the theatre for a few nights.’ I thought.

“You seem upset.” Bea said looking at me.

I smiled softly and ruffled her hair.

“I always worry boutcha when you’re sick!” I said smiling softly.

Bea batted my hands away and flattened her hair or tried to.

“But you look sad, like when momma and daddy didn’t come home!” Ry said looking at me.

I sighed and nodded.

“I let my boys down yesterday and I have to again today.” I said softly.

I didn’t like letting them into my problems, I was older I was meant to take care of them. Bea and Ry looked at each other before scooting to me, hugging me.

“So, don’t.” Bea said softly.

I laughed and kissed her forehead.

“If I don’t, we don’t eat.” I said softly.

They looked at each other and shrugged.

“We get can get food lots of other ways!” Ry said, with a smile.

I swallowed, the way he was talking about is when I used to steal for us.

“I can’t do that anymore.” I whispered.

It was true, Jack had been my partner and he had gotten caught, for me. They didn’t know that. They hugged me again.

“It’s ok, they’ll forgive you.” Bea said and I hoped she was right.

We got ready and headed to the theatre.

“Thanks again Ms. Medda. For everything.” I said as it turned to trudge off to the gate.

“Ley!” Ms. Medda called.

I turned to look at her and she stepped out of the theatre and over to me.

“Help your family.” She said softly.

I nodded towards the theatre.

“That’s what I’m doing.” I said trying to stay strong in my resolve.

She shook her head and pressed something into my hand, tilting my head up when I went to look at it.

“Your chosen family.” She said before gently turning me and giving me a shove towards the gate.

I walked a few feet and turned the corner, before pausing and opening my hand. Ms. Medda had pressed a roll of coins into my hand and sent me on my way, I looked back towards the theatre before nodding tugging my bag off I took off running.

“Ley! I beat you!” Jack called a smirk on his face.

I gave him a look, having tucked the coins into my pocket.

“Jack, shut up.” I said before throwing my bag on the ground at his feet.

His head followed the movement before his head snapped back up and he looked at me.

“What about?” He asked trailing off.

Only Davey, Les and him knew about the kids. I smiled and tilted my head back towards the theatre.

“Let’s just say Ms. Medda helped me make up my mind. And they also said I should help.” I said vaguely.

“Aw yeah! Ley’s with us!” Crutchie called waving his crutch with the strike flag on it.

I let out a sharp laugh and ruffled his hair.

“I was always with ya, ya damn fool!” I called.

After that, the day went downhill and before I knew it, I was running for my life from Snyder and the cops.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yelled as I spun around a corner and up a flight of stairs.

‘I hope everyone managed to get away.’ I thought as I finally stopped to breath, I was hidden behind an outcrop on a roof.

I waited a while before making my way over to Jack's, hoping to find him. I ran up the fire escape and looked over the railing giving a small sigh of relief.

“Jack!” I called relief in my voice.

He spun and in seconds we were wrapped up together.

“Thank everything anyone believes in! I thought they got you too.” Jack said looking down slightly at me.

I swallowed at what that meant.

“Too? Who else did they get?” I asked fearing the answer.

Jack moved away from me leaning on the rail and shaking his head, I walked up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder.

“Jack?” I asked, concern in my voice.

“They got Crutchie alright! I was right there but I couldn’t get him! They beat him with his own crutch!” Jack exclaimed.

I took a shaky breath and hugged jack.

“We’ll figure out how to get him back. It’ll be ok.” I said trying to reassure him.

Jack shook his head looking up at the sky, he blamed himself any time anything happened to any of us, but he took things that happened to Crutchie particularly bad.

“He was real hurt, what if he doesn’t make it?” Jack asked softly.

I shook my head.

“You can’t think like that. He’s stronger than anyone knows. If anyone can survive that hell hole, he can.” I said firmly.

Jack didn’t look convinced, but I knew nothing I said would actually help him. We stood there for a while in silence, before Jack turned to look at me.

“Shouldn’t you be getting the kids?” he asked me.

I saw a moment of worry in his eyes, I smiled softly and shook my head.

“Ms. Medda said they could stay at the theatre for a few days while Ry gets better. I'll head over in a few minutes, unless you want me to go now.” I said voice gentle.

He shook his head.

“No, you don’t gotta go yet.” He said quietly.

I nodded and we stood there for a while longer, letting the sun set. I took a breath and turned to Jack hugging him again before moving towards the steps.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Jack.” I said softly.

He nodded and did his best to give me a smile, I knew he felt our injuries were his fault, and sadly I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t be out there tomorrow. I walked quickly down the steps and stuck to the shadows, popping into the shops and getting something quick to eat for the kids, I ran to the theatre and inside. I quickly fed them, ignoring the questions about my cuts and bruises before giving Ry another dose of medicine and getting them ready for bed. The next morning, I woke up and got ready quickly letting the kids sleep in. I turned seeing Ms. Medda standing there, I had already tucked my hair up so I wasn’t worried.

“Thank you.” I said sincerely.

She shook her head and smiled softly.

“Of course, dear!” she said with a smile.

I ran out of the theatre and head towards Jacobs Deli hoping no one else had been caught. I slid to a stop in front of the door and pulled it open, seeing Katherine standing there with the guys I did a quick count and saw that besides Crutchie only Jack was missing. I quickly fell into a chair beside Les and Davey. Everyone looked to happy this morning, that’s when I saw the paper.

“We made the front page?” I asked softly.

Davey nodded bouncing slightly.

“Above the fold!” He exclaimed happily.

I let out a soft laugh, they couldn’t ignore us if we were in the papes!

“Ley, where’s Jack?” one of the boys asked and I looked up, seeing them all looking at me.

I looked away and everyone started talking.

“Shuddup wouldya!” I yelled standing up on my chair.

That go their attention.

“Jacks fine, Snyder missed him. But I ain’t gotta tell yous all how he is.” I said quickly.

The others nodded, except Les, Davey, and Katherine, who looked at me. I sat down in my chair.

“How is he?” Les the more outgoing brother asked.

I sighed and shook my head.

“I forget, yous two…. three sorry reporter girl…are new.” I said softly.

“It’s Katherine.” She said hands on her hips.

I waved my hand, waving off her words.

“Yeah, yeah. Jack takes all the bad stuffs that happens to us and blames himself. I saw 'em yesterday and he was bustin’ himself up over what happened to Crutchie. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was hiding out in Ms. Medda Larkin’s theatre.” I said sipping the water that had been put in front of me.

That’s all it took and the four of us were up, I paused at the door letting the others run ahead of me, I turned to the others.

“Get word to Spot Conlon! His cousins callin' in the favor 'e owes!” I shouted and darted from the building before they could question me.

The four of us ran into the theatre, and down the steps into the basement.

“There you are! How about letting a pal know you’re alive!” Davey called running down the steps to him.

Jack shook his head and kept working in the background. Katherine Les and I stayed back.

“Look! We made the paper! Front page, Above the fold! That’s right! Above the fold!” Davey said enthusiastically.

“Yeah that’s great.” Jack said.

“Is that Santa Fe? I have to say Jack this go west young man thing is getting old. You should paint something you know.” Katherine said and I slapped my forehead.

Jack froze for a second a dark look over taking him.

“You wanna see somethin I know?” Jack asked and his voice was low.

I didn’t want to see what he was going to do. He spun the background around and in almost photo realistic paint was the fight that had happened yesterday. I swallowed looking away.

“That’s what I know! That’s Newsie square, all of the kids gettin’ beat down for standin' up for themselves! I ain’t puttin’ them through that again!” He yelled, face contorted in a mix of anger and upset.

Davey tried to convince him to have hope.

“You know why a rattle snake rattles?” Davey asked walking up behind him.

“No, why?” Jack asked sarcasm clear.

“Cause he’s scared!” Davey said.

Jacked huffed and shook his head.

“Look it up! Why else would he have sent the goons!” Davey continued.

Jack started to slowly nod.

“Maybe your right!” Jack said finally.

“Thank the god!” Davey said.

I huffed a laugh at that, and we all started to plan a bit. Katherine had to leave and so Davey, Les and I stayed with Jack for a bit. Davey and Les started up the stairs a while later and I kept an eye on Jack knowing he was planning something.

“I'm fine.” He said as he kept working on the painting.

I nodded and pursed my lips.

“Ok, but bullshit.” I said letting my opinion be clear.

He let his head drop back and he laughed, turning to face me.

“I hate that you know me so well.” He said finally.

I crossed my arms and smirked.

“No, you don’t.” I said firmly.

He nodded and laughed, his own smirk on his face. We stood there staring at each other for a while. He finally set down his paint brush and refused to meet my eyes.

“I’m going to go invite Pulitzer to this rally maybe let 'em see who he’s messing with.” Jack said finally, still not looking at me.

I sucked in a breath and looked at him, his mind was made up. I nodded slowly, my arms dropping to my sides.

“Ok but what if it’s just us? Spot hasn’t said one way or another that he’s in this, and without him, without Brooklyn, you know damn well the others won’t come!” I exclaimed frustrated.

He nodded and looked up at me.

“I know, that’s why if they don’t come, I want you the kids Les and Davey outta here. Cause if the others don’t come, you know Snyder's going to find a way to get in here.” He said firmly.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“I don’t like it, Jacky.” I said quietly.

Jack sighed and dropped the cloth in his hand, walking over he wrapped his arms around me, we had always been close. I wrapped my own arms around his chest and tucked my head under his chin, we were alone I could do this without worry.

“I know, I don’t like it none too much neither, but if it’s the only chance we all got.” Jack said pulling back to look down at me.

I nodded and closed my eyes, letting my arms fall from him and he stepped back.

“Just be careful, Jacky. You got all of us here waiting for you, and reporter girl to impress.” I said softly with no lack of scorn buried in my tone when I said that.

Jack had picked up his brush to finish the backdrop but he paused at my words and tone. He turned back to face me, a smirk on his face.

“What, are you jealous?” Jack asked a teasing turn to his voice.

I felt my face flush and turned away a bit.

“Kaley?” Jack asked softly.

I bit my lip before looking up at him.

“Yes ok! Is that what you want to hear? I've liked you for a while now, can’t help it. Seein you pine after that reporter girl makes me realize…” I broke off and shook my head.

Jack was just watching me now, his eyes wide.

“Doesn’t matter, I gotta go get food for the kids.” I said turning and running up the steps.

I didn’t stop running until I was out of the theatre, ignoring Jack’s voice as he shouted my name. I ran to the shops and got food, paying quickly and walking back to the theatre. I paused at the corner seeing Jack just leaving, I waited until he was gone before I walked back into the theatre. I fed the kids and cuddled up with them giving Ry his medicine. When they were asleep, I sat up and crossed my arms over my legs.

‘Jack still hadn’t come back; I hope Snyder didn’t get him.’ I thought with a worried frown on my face.

I laid back and tugged my cap over my face to try and get some sleep. Early the next morning I woke up to chanting voices in the street. I stood up, tugging my cap on and looked out of the door, before yanking it open and rushing out.

“Spot!” I yelled.

He turned and grabbed me, his arms around me as he spun.

“Brooklyn’s here. We’ll win this thing yet!” He shouted.

That got mass acceptance and that’s when I realized, all of the paper boys from the entire city were here including our group. Davey walked up to me then.

“Where’s Jack?’ he asked quietly.

I swallowed and shrugged.

“I don’t know, we got into a fight after you guys left and I haven’t seen him since I went to get food.” I said softly.

Davey gave me a worried look and I knew my face mirrored it. Within a few hours all of the boys where gathered into the Theatre. I had given Ry his medicine and moved the kids into another part of the theatre incase anything happened. I stood by Les and Davey. I smiled as Spot took the stage and rallied the boys. And I actually breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Jack appear.

“He raised the price and we strike, so he lowers the price. And in a few weeks, he Jack’s them right back up, because let’s be honest, he will.” Jack said and I froze.

Everyone in the theatre erupted in anger at the same time, except me, I was still to shocked at what Jack had said. The others had already started to clear out about an hour later when I saw Jack and one of Pulitzers men. I saw the money the guy handed him and I shook my head.

“I thought they were worth more to you then a wad of cash, Jack.” I said disbelief and anger coating my tone.

He jumped at my voice and turned to me guiltily.

“Ley, I can explain.” He said looking at me worriedly.

I closed my eyes and turned to walk away, but something told me to hear him out.

“You have two minutes.” I said still not turning to face him.

I heard Jack let out a breath, in a sigh.

“He said I had to talk against the strike or he’d throw me back in.” Jack said quickly.

I didn’t have to ask, 'in where?’, we all knew where.

“The money, Jack.” I said firmly.

I heard a soft thump as if Jack had thrown the money down.

“It was part of his deal. He cleared my arrest record, including the warrants and gave me enough money to go wherever I wanted. I just didn’t want to go back in.” Jack said and I turned slightly.

I took a breath.

“Well you’re lucky it was me who saw that. But you have to fix this Jack, those boys don’t think you care.” I said my voice stronger than I thought was possible.

He watched me for a few seconds, taking a small step closer.

“What about you?” He asked.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, moving to the stairs.

“That balls in your court, Jack. Your decision and your move.” I said before disappearing to go take care of the kids.

I didn’t see Jack at all for the rest of the evening and laid down after giving Ry his medicine. I was shaken awake hours later, I sat up rubbing my eyes.

“W-wha?” I asked before my eyes cleared enough to see who was standing before me.

There I saw Les and a bit away I saw Davey, his eyes wide.

“Woah! You’re a girl!” Les exclaimed, and I shushed him.

I quickly pulled my vest on, making sure the kids didn’t wake up, before I tucked my hair up into my cap and stood shooing them into another area of the theatre.

“You’re a girl?” Davey, this time, asked shock coating his tone.

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, I am. You gots a problem with that, skinny boy?” I asked him quickly.

Davey put his hands up and stepped back.

“Jack needs us! Katherine and him planned somethin’! Come on!” Les said grabbing me and tugging me along.

I bit my lip and looked back towards where the kids were, before finally nodding

“Alright, let’s go.” I said and the boys led me outside and we ran through the streets before busting into Pulitzers basement.

“Woah.” I said quietly.

“You got enough people coverin' us?” Jack asked looking up at Davey.

Davey tilted his head and gave Jack a slightly unimpressed look.

“We could have a hoedown down here and no-one would know.” Davey said.

Jack smirked and nodded.

“Good let’s do this.” He said.

I walked down the steps and looked Jack in the eyes.

“What is this?” I asked looking at him, a smirk playing across my face.

He smirked back and looked towards the room; I turned my eyes widening at the printing press.

“You told me to fix it, this is how we’re fixing it.” Jack said softly.

I turned and nodded.

“We got work to do. I’ll get Spot on the line and get his group rallied, they’ll spread the word.” I said nodding already racing up the steps.

“Let’s do this!” Jack shouted again.

I ran out of the door and to the nearest payphone, using a trick I had learned a while ago I entered Spot’s number.

“Spot, rally the gang. We are going to make first light news.” I said quickly when he answered.

“You got it! Let’s go boys!” Spot called from the other side of the line.

I hung up and ran back down into the building, quickly helping bundle and stack the pages. Before long we had enough to blanket the city, and that’s exactly what we did. Hours later, saw everyone with one of our papes and Jack looked at me smirking.

“Time for Davey and me to make the final blow.” He said with a bright sparkle in his eyes.

He knew we won. I laughed and shook my head.

“Go, we’ll be there with you! RIGHT BOYS!” I yelled the last bit to a resounding agreement from everyone in the area.

Jack smiled at me before taking off, Davey right behind him. The next thing anyone knew we were all outside Pulitzers building looking up and blocking all of the streets, we saw Jack and Davey and Les managed to get away from us and ended up with them in Pulitzers office. The thing that did surprise us, with Governor Roosevelt was stood with them. Twenty minutes later and Davey Les and Jack came racing from the building.

“WE WON!” Jack shouted in such a manner I hadn’t seen on him in a while.

A bright cheer went up, it got louder when Governor Roosevelt announced that the Refuge was closed, Crutchie joining us again. All of us surging over to him, the best news was when Snyder the Spider was put in chains, Crutchie took great joy in whacking him with his crutch.

“Could be used for a weekly political comic, what do you say Theodore? Let Jack behind your back door?” Pulitzer was saying.

I looked over and saw Jack debating between staying and leaving for Santa Fe.

“What’s Santa Fe got that New York doesn’t? Tarantulas?” Davey asked walking over to Jack.

Katherine walked up to Jack then.

“Better yet, what does Santa Fe have, that New York doesn’t?” She asked him with a smile.

I turned and gave a smile to the guys walking through the crowd. We won today and tomorrow, I’d be back out selling papes to help my family, I felt a hand grab me and turn me.

“Ya know, you walk really fast when you wanna get away from somethin’.” Jack huffed out, still holding my hand.

I smiled weakly at him.

“We won, congrats.” I said softly.

He tilted his head for a second and sighed shaking his head.

“For a smart girl, who can hide in plain sight. You can be kinda dumb.” Jack said.

I huffed out a breath and closed my eyes.

“If you’re just going to insult me you can just …” I started before Jack interrupted me.

I would have smacked him if he hadn’t had his lips attached to mine. I froze for a second before my eyes fluttered shut and my arms wrapped around his neck. I lifted one hand placing it on the back of his hat, giving absolutely no fucks when I heard it and a similar thing hit the ground. I didn’t care when I felt my hair down my back. The only thing I cared about was Jacks one arm wrapped around my waist and the other around my shoulders as he tilted me.

“Jack where did you…. Oh!” We heard a voice from behind us and stood up slowly.

Jack pressed his forehead to mine, and didn’t look up.

“What is it Crutchie? Can’t ya see you’re interruptin’ somethin’?” Jack asked looking into my eyes.

I smiled softly at him, running my fingers through his hair.

“S-sorry!” Crutchie said and I heard him move away.

I smiled again, closing my eyes.

“So, what’s this about?” I asked still a bit breathless.

He laughed and held me closer, if that was possible.

“Well you did say that this particular ball was in my court right?” He asked turning it back to me.

I took a breath and stepped back, breaking his hold on me. I turned my back and crossed my arms in front of me.

“I…I just…I saw how she looked at you and I thought…” I said softly.

Jack laughed and I felt him wrap his arms around my waist, placing his head on my shoulder.

“Nah, she’s just a girl. A friend yes, but just a girl. You’re so much more than that.” He said gently swaying us.

He turned me around and looked down at me tilting my head up.

“My best friend. My partner. The only person I’d willingly get arrested for again. Beautiful. Witty. Wise. Bright as a whip. Caring. Loving. Kind. Do I need to keep going?” He said pressing a soft kiss to my lips each time he paused, before turning the ending into a question.

I was bright red as my arms wrapped around him.

“The kissing, yes please. The compliments…. only if you want to.” I said softly burying my head in his chest.

He laughed and I felt him kiss the top of my head.

“Oh finally!” we heard and turned again, seeing a small group of boys at the mouth of the alley we were stood in.

I raised an eyebrow.

“What?” I asked.

Most of them groaned and rolled their eyes.

“One, we’ve known yous was a girl for a while. We just didn’t care. And two, yous two dancin' around each other for years got old real quick.” Romeo said stepping forward.

Jack and I laughed and spun a bit, just then the paper alarm sounded. Together jack and I leaned down grabbing our hats and quickly got them back on our heads, my hair tucked back under it.

“Well, what are we waitin' for? We got papes to sell!” Jack shouted.

With that we headed back out and into the streets selling the papers. Jack did eventually accept Pulitzers offer of the cartoonist job and we eventually were able to afford a small apartment. It took a little bit but, everything worked out in the end. Including Jack and I.

“EXTRA, EXTRA OUR BOY JACKS OFF THE MARKET STEP ON UP YOU HEARD ABOUT IT HERE! READ ALL ABOUT IT!” if I had figured out who yelled that I probably would have cuffed him with the paper.

Instead I shook my head, holding Ry in my arms as he held up a paper, Jack doing the same with Bea.

“Get yer paper!” Ry called.

I smiled and patted his head gently; Bea made an echoing call and I saw Jack nod at her sales tactics. That’s how the next while went, until we saved enough to send them to school, then Jack took the cartooning job and I sold Papes. Taking over the pack for Jack. And that’s just how it went.

#newsies #Jack kelly #oc #davey jacobs #ocs

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96thdayofrage · 3 years ago

Text

The Black Wall Around Barack Obama: Who Does It Protect Him Against?

When we build a black wall around Barack Obama, we are only protecting him from accountability to us.

The presumption that Barack Obama, no matter what he does or doesn't do, enjoys nearly unanimous black support is a veritable wall around the president. But who does it protect him against? Republicans? Banksters? Tea partyers, warmongers, torturers? Or does it protect him against black people and the left, his supposed base?

It was the summer of 2007, and I was in the study of a prominent black Atlanta pastor. The conversation turned, as did so many that season to the coming presidential election, still a good 16 months away. “We've got to unite and build a wall, a solid black wall around Brother Obama,” the reverend declared.

I tried to ask whether one man's career was really more important than the needs of forty million black people, what obligations candidate Obama would owe the black community, and how we might ensure these were fulfilled. But the pastor wasn't hearing any of this. All the obligations, in his view, seemed to flow from the bottom up, while the power flowed from the top down. It's never easy to stop a preacher on a roll.

“If we can build that solid black wall,” he continued, “if we can unite black people behind Brother Obama, he will have the power to do anything he wants to do. Can't you see it?” he asked. “If we do that, nothing any of his opponents say or do will be able to touch him.” Almost four years later, it looks like black America's legacy leadership are still following the pastor's playbook.

The black political wall around Barack Obama is a reality, and one of the president's most powerful political assets. It trades upon African America's historic credibility as a people of struggle, the people who produced Nat Turner and Ida B. Wells, Charles Hamilton Houston, Kwame Toure and Martin Luther King and many, many others.

White liberals and progressives often tend to follow the lead of black America, whether right or wrong. You want to know what you should do? The president's black and black people are supporting him? What else do you need to know? But who is inside that wall, and who is outside? Who does the black wall the Atlanta preacher described protect Barack Obama against?

The black wall around Barack Obama doesn't protect him from the war makers and war criminals of the bipartisan military industrial complex.

From the beginning, the architects of the Bush-Cheney policies of torture and unjust war have been on the inside of Barack Obama's wall, not outside it. With U.S. troops in 144 countries, the most powerful person in government outside the White House is the Secretary of Defense. Obama was the first president in U.S. history to keep a Secretary of War (the office's pre-1948 name) from the other party. He ran promising to expand the military, to escalate the war in Afghanistan, crack down on the Palestinians, continue the provocations and threats toward Venezuela, Cuba, Iran and so forth, and to close Guantanamo and end illegal torture.

In office Obama kept Guantanamo and the network of global secret prisons remain open. He “legalized” torture, declined to prosecute Bush-Cheney crimes. This president has kept all his warlike promises, breaking only his peaceful pledges. The president has viciously prosecuted whistle blowers, like those who leaked video of U.S. troops gunning down innocent civilians in Iraq.

The black wall around Barack Obama protects the president, but it protects the war machine too. But while black America remains the most antiwar section of the U.S. polity, black critics of the imperial wars are not heard. They are on the outside of Obama's black wall.

Don't criticize the dear leader too loudly, they are told, lest you weaken him. Look--- over there --- it's President Michelle Bachman!

The black wall around Barack Obama doesn't protect him from greedy Wall Street banksters and corporate thugs.

Like the war makers, the banksters were inside the Barack's wall long before the inauguration, even before the election. When George Bush couldn't pass his own bailout bill through Congress, he had to summon Barack Obama to D.C. Obama halted his campaign for a week or two and lined up Democrats to vote for the Bush bailout. Without their votes, it could not have passed. Once in office, Obama doubled down on the bailout, doling out more than $21 trillion to his benefactors thus far.

Homes are the principal assets of most who have them. The continuing wave of foreclosures, disproportionately affecting black families, is the most serious raid on black wealth in decades, widening the already vast wealth gap between blacks and whites.

The black wall around Barack Obama protects the president, and the banksters with him. Those opposed to the foreclosures, who want to rein in and prosecute Wall Street predators, who organize against foreclosures find themselves outside Barack Obama's black wall, not inside it. ACORN registered voters to elect this president. But Obama stood by and watched them falsely accused, smeared and broken.

Look --- over there! It's the Tea Party! Circle the wagons, get back in line!

The black wall around Barack Obama doesn't protect him against the forces aiming to privatize public education

From the beginning President Obama has been an enthusiastic supporter of efforts to blame and defame public school teachers, and to charterize and privatize public education. As Chicago Schools CEO his infamous Secretary of Education fired hundreds of dedicated, qualified Chicago teachers in order to replace their schools with charters. Obama has taken Duncan's failed Chicago policies national, firing for example, a whole school district of teachers in Providence, Rhode Island. Obama's Race To The Top forces states to reorganize public education to suit the dictates of the Gates, Broad and Walton Family Foundations, the private sector actors who gave birth to the charter school industry, which is firmly inside Barack Obama's black wall.

This week the president is scheduled to make his first public appearance since announcing his re-election campaign at the national convention of Al Sharpton's National Action Network, along with Arne Duncan. Together with Newt Gingrich, Duncan and Sharpton have been campaigning for charters and school privatization nationwide for the last two years. Gingrich, Duncan and Sharpton, the three stooges of corporate school reform are firmly inside Barack Obama's black wall, along with their foundation benefactors. Public school teachers and the communities they server are as usual, on the outside, but required to man the barricades for Obama's re-election.

Watch out! It's Mike Huckabee and Mitch Romney! You don't want that to happen, do you?

The black wall around Barack Obama doesn't protect him against Republican-led assaults on democratic rights.

Restrictive voter-ID laws are proliferating in Republican-led legislatures across the country with the clear intent of reducing the number of student and minority voters. Perhaps the first was in Georgia, where the Voting Rights Act gives the US Justice Department authority to block any changes in election law that disproportionately affect blacks. The wave of disenfranchisement could have been prevented. But black legacy leadership didn't pressure the Obama administration, and the Department of Justice didn't lift a finger.

The traditional black leadership are so bankrupt that when right wing propagandist Andrew Breitbart smeared Shirley Sherrod, a local human rights activist of 45 years standing, even the NAACP, who doubtless knew her history, rushed endorsed the calumny. Shirley Sherrod, along with millions of black, brown and young voters are on the outside of Barack Obama's wall.

Republican governors and legislatures in Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio and Indiana have passed ambitious efforts to end public sector unions, ban union political contributions. Michigan passed a measure that would let governors overrule or dissolve school boards and local governments by declaring a “fiscal emergency” and appointing an individual or corporation to rule in their place.

But the fiscal hawks are inside Barack Obamas wall, not outside it. The president himself promotes the fictions that “national debt is like family debt” and that cuts in wages, benefits, Medicare, Medicaid and social security are the solution to his fictitious problem.

Unions are outside Barack Obama's black wall too, although he gratefully accepts their campaign contributions, and allows their leaders to sit on commissions and meet with him from time to time. Union leaders invited the president to come to Madison, Wisconsin during the face-off with the legislature. Fortunately, he declined. They invited the vice-president. He demurred. They invited the Secretary of Labor. No way. Here again, the president's freeze on the pay and rights of federal workers set the stage for Republican moves to take it one step further.

Look --- over there! It's President Sarah Palin! Can you live with that? Shut up and drink your kool-aid.

In every case, the black wall around Barack Obama protects him not from Tea Partyers and Republican foes, whom he is anxious to meet more than half way. The black wall around Barack Obama protects him from accountability to black people, to his supposed base.

Increasingly we can expect the White House and its allies will demand that all grassroots political agitation and organizing not explicitly connected with turning out the vote for the president and his party cease. That's been the traditional pattern. Antiwar movements, housing and human rights work, all of it folds in even numbered years, as activists allow all their efforts to be diverted into electing Democrats.

As 2012 looms, the black wall around Obama remains a crucial asset. It's why his first campaign appearance will be on the arm of Al Sharpton. The pressure will be on to circle the wagons again, to build the wall higher. As the pastor predicted, the black wall around Barack Obama wall insulates the president against his foes, not from the right, but from the left. It protects the president not against the Pentagon, the banksters, the corporate thugs, the privatizers and the Republicans, all of whom he seems to get along with just fine --- but against us. It makes him democracy-proof and people-proof. It protects him against his own supposed base.

It's time for black America to answer the questions the Atlanta pastor wouldn't. What's more important? Stopping the foreclosures, ending war and mass incarceration, reining in the banks and corporadoes, saving the public education and the environment, creating jobs and doing justice? Or protecting and prolonging the career of one man, a man who doesn't protect us?

Bruce A. Dixon is managing editor at Black Agenda Report, and based in Marietta GA, where he serves on the state committee of the Georgia Green Party.

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xhxhxhx · 4 years ago

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A neat little precinct map of Kamala Harris's first election win, in the 2003 San Francisco District Attorney race.

Her opponent was incumbent DA Terence Hallinan, a privileged and troubled man:

Hallinan grew up in a 22-room mansion in Ross, California. At age twelve, he fell off his h orse, fractured his skull, and spent five days stranded outside Yosemite before being rescued by helicopter.

As a young man Hallinan developed, in the words of California Supreme Court Justice Raymond E. Peters, a "habitual and continuing resort to fisticuffs to settle personal differences." He became a ward of juvenile court in 1954 when he took a case of beer from three sailors after he and his brother had run them off the road on Point Reyes and beat them. The juvenile court banned him from Marin County so he got a job in a warehouse in Sacramento before clerking for the Longshoremen's Union in Hawaii. Shortly after turning eighteen, he pleaded guilty to battery for punching the proprietor of the Edelweiss Ski Lodge. In 1957, he punched a fraternity brother who denied him admission to a private party. He was indicted in 1959 after he broke a man's jaw during a brawl at a Greenbrae bowling alley. While at UC Berkeley, he boxed for the Golden Bears and sparred with Muhammad Ali in the 1960 Olympic boxing team eliminations.

Hallinan's propensity for fistfights continued in law school. When he and his brother were picketing in San Francisco against the House Un-American Activities Committee, some of their classmates arrived to picket them. Strong words ensued and a fight was arranged in Golden Gate Park. Initially Hallinan was part of the crowd of UC Hastings student onlookers but he soon began a brawl with one of the opposing spectators. He also engaged in fistfights at a Young Democrats meeting and over a woman while at UC Hastings.

[...]

Back in San Francisco, Hallinan helped organize the W.E.B. DuBois Club to support Communist Party USA. In the fall of 1963, he joined the Ad Hoc Committee to End Discrimination and participated in sit-ins at the Sheraton Palace Hotel, Mel's Drive-In, and the Van Ness Avenue Cadillac showroom. His civil disobedience in the city resulted in six arrests and two separate criminal convictions.

After graduating UC Hastings, Hallinan's criminal history proved an obstacle to his admission to the California State Bar. The Committee of Bar Examiners required several hearings over Hallinan's moral character. Hallinan introduced evidence that his violent tendencies were the result of a thyroid deficiency. His mother, however, testified that Hallinan became violent in response to the bullying caused by his father's vocal support of labor leaders during the Red Scare. California State Assemblymen Willie Brown and John L. Burton both testified that Hallinan possessed good moral character. The Committee questioned Hallinan about whether civil disobedience is compatible with being an attorney at law. Hallinan responded that he thought "it's an unfortunate thing" that more German lawyers did not disobey the Third Reich.

The California State Bar refused to admit Hallinan. Hallinan appealed to the Supreme Court of California, and won.

Hallinan went on to become a defender of the California counterculture before he was elected San Francisco DA in 1995:

Terence Hallinan was born and raised to a fabulously wealthy, and famously progressive, family in Marin County. Hallinan was the embodiment of the counterculture movements that had so often found their home in San Francisco. As a youth, he was a frequent fixture in the courtroom, not for his proficiency with the law, but because of his proficiency with his fists. He was arrested on multiple occasions for battery and was even barred from entering his home county of Marin by a judge. But through it all, Hallinan managed to fight (sometimes with his fists) for a number of progressive causes and get himself admitted to the California Bar. As an attorney, he vigorously defended clients who had been arrested on drug charges. Outside of court, he attempted to enter politics in 1977, only to lose a race for supervisor to none-other than Harvey Milk. In 1995, he was elected District Attorney for San Francisco.

Hallinan’s office was beset by controversy almost immediately. On his first day, he fired over a dozen senior prosecutors. When a man who was upset about the firings approached Hallinan in a bar, he responded by punching him in the face. Hallinan won re-election in 1999, but things only got worse from there. When three off duty police officers beat up two local men over a bag of fajitas, Hallinan indicted the city’s entire police leadership. He was seen as overreaching and letting his personal dislike of police influence his decision making. Making matters worse, the case completely fell apart due to lack of evidence, making the whole endeavor look like a massive abuse of power, and just to top it all off, the police chief he indicted was the city’s first black officer to hold that position, tanking Hallinan’s image with the city’s black voters. His office was additionally criticized for its inability to convict criminals and its case backlog – it had the lowest conviction rate of any DA’s office in the country at the time. The negative press was inevitably going to give a challenger an opening, and Hallinan went into 2003 an underdog.

Around the end of 2002, a young career prosecutor working in Hallinan’s office decided that she could be the one to seize the opportunity ...

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adarlingwrites · 4 years ago

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Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXIV

January 10, 2278.

Hannibal Hamlin just arrived a few moments ago, after Cross did. He sees me, smiles, and shakes my hand.

“Charon. Good to see you again, friend. How is Percy treating you? Has she found a solution to your contract yet?”

“Good,” I tell him. “We’re working on it.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The back door swings open, and DeLoria arrives with the dog. Dogmeat bounds towards me, and licks my hand after I ruffled his fur.

“Yo. I’m here. Where’s Percy at?”

“She’s retrieving a few things from the house. She’ll be here soon,” I tell him. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

“Yeah. I had the dog with me to keep watch.”

Just a few moments later, we heard the back door opening once again. Gob exclaims something I couldn’t hear, and Percy comes into view, dragging a missile launcher with her. It’s the one we found on the first day that I started serving her.

“Sorry I’m late. Had to double check a few things. Paladin Cross, this is for you.”

DeLoria’s jaw drops at the sight of the weapon. Cross carries it with ease, and thanks my partner.

“Holy shit, Perce. Where’d you even get that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway, these arrived just in time, Charon. Moira had a hard time procuring them, so let’s put them to good use,” Percy turns to me, handing me a package.

I look inside and smirk.

“As you command.”

Nodding, Percy sets the map Doc Church drew out for us on the bar top.

“Here’s the plan.”

It was near midnight when we finished our meeting.

“Let’s go home,” Percy tells me. I follow her.

After cleaning up, we went into Percy's bedroom, my bedroom now too, I suppose. I lay awake next to her that night, thinking back to the days we spent with the Abolitionists, and their influence on me.

Right after that incident with Harkness, Percy runs into an escaped slave in the city, Mei Wong. She gives Wong some caps so she can buy a weapon. Then, that’s when we learned about the Temple of the Union, and met Hamlin.

November 11, 2277.

Staying close to Percy, we walked on, accompanying Hamlin and the others to the Lincoln Memorial.

Nearly two centuries ago, my first mission occurred here. I think I was… fourteen. Or fifteen. Fuck, my memories from before the Great War are still hazy, but I know it happened. Under the orders of our contract holder then, our unit was tasked to suppress protesters gathering at the memorial.

I remember everyone’s actions.

Vanth, our sniper, did not hesitate to open fire, making rubber bullets rain on the crowd. She didn’t even aim it to the ground; she aimed at the people. Everyone followed suit, save for me who stood there, mortified. I only got moving when my electric collar went off.

Magwayen did the best she could to avoid casualties. I followed her. The others did not. At the end of the day, Mag treated the wounds on my back. Whip marks. Punishment for being too soft.

The next day, I went harder on the people. I remember the smell of tear gas. Mag became distant since then.

I’m certain that if hell exists, I would go there, regardless whether hurting all those people is my will, or not. My hands killed them. I’m a murderer.

I’d never thought I’d come back to that place and do something right for a change.

I watched as my mistress helped the Abolitionists return the statue’s head back where it belonged. Smiling, sweat pouring from her brow, Percy approaches me, and tells me to enjoy the rest of the day while she talks to Hamlin.

They talked for hours. Occasionally, Hamlin would look at me, a certain understanding in his gaze.

I brought my mind back to the present. I figured out earlier that Percy must’ve spoken to him about my contract. Heartbeat slow, Percy sleeps next to me, and I look at her unmarred face. As gently as possible, I brush a lock of stray hair from her face. This angel… she’s doing everything she can to free me from its hold, huh?

Maybe it’s time.

I think I can manage it.

If I survive tomorrow, I want to come out as a free man.

After planting a light kiss on her shoulder, I closed my eyes.

January 11, 2278.

Today’s the day.

The sun’s setting on the horizon. DeLoria walks in front of me, obviously nervous as hell. We approach Paradise Falls’ entrance, where a guard asks us to halt and state our business.

“Yo, is this a place where I can sell people? My friend gave me this piece of shit here and I don’t want anything to do with him.”

The guard looks at us with scrutiny. DeLoria looks like an absolute dick, wearing shades and a set of ill-fitting armor. Only an idiot would buy his disguise, but I guess the guard’s one after all.

Good for us.

Behind him, Percy emerges, and snaps his neck. He lands to the ground with a thud. The others approach; Hamlin and Simone from the Abolitionists, and Cross from the Brotherhood. The paladin hefts the rocket launcher, and as Simone kicks the gates open, all hell breaks loose.

Crouching, Percy disappears again, and the only thing giving her away’s the silver-white outline of her stealth field. The Abolitionists provide Cross some cover fire as she fires the missiles at the slavers.

Now, my turn.

DeLoria follows me close by, and we approach the slave pen.

“Remember the plan,” I tell him. “Watch my back as I get these gates open.”

“R-right,” DeLoria stammers, taking a steadying breath. “Shit, shit. What have I gotten myself into, man?”

“Hey. Do it for the kids.”

The younger man nods at me, bravado coming back. “Yeah! For the kids!”

As soon as I unlocked the gate, DeLoria tossed a bag at the adult slaves. “Here, protect yourselves. Run for it!” he yells.

I moved on to the next gate, where the children stayed. They huddled together, looking at me with fear. But when the gates swung open, they reluctantly approached. Next to me, Percy emerges from thin air. The kids looked at her with awe.

“Hey. Your friends from Lamplight asked us to help you. Follow the guy with the nice hair, kids. We’ll meet you outside.”

The children followed DeLoria, while the other slaves joined the fray, exacting retribution on their captors.

“Charon, you know what to do,” Percy tells me, squeezing my arm, and disappears once again.

I take out the contents of the package Percy gave me the night before.

C4 explosives.

Time to blow this place up.

I started at the clinic. An old slaver lies dead on the floor. The vault next to the cash register is already looted. Must be Percy’s doing. She’s still thorough. I placed one explosive under the desk.

After that, I went to the slaver barracks. The place is deserted, bottles lying about.

Then I heard a click of a gun behind my head.

“Hold it right there,” a familiar voice tells me. “Wait a minute, it’s you! Hah, the zombie- ugh!”

A shot resounded through the building, and the slaver’s body thumps against the floor. I look behind me, and Percy stands there, 10mm in her hand. Her stealth armor helmet pops open and she smiles at me.

“C’mon big guy, let’s get a move on.”

She watched my back as I installed another explosive, and we ran back out to face Paradise Falls’ leader.

Eulogy Jones.

I kick the door to his pad open, and he sits atop the bed, looking far too relaxed for someone whose base is being torn to shreds.

It’s almost as if he was expecting us.

Two female slaves jump at Percy and before I can save her, Eulogy Jones shoots my calf, and I kneel, groaning in pain. I can barely keep my eyes open as one of them searched Percy for my contract, and handed it to Eulogy.

No, no! Not this shit again!

“Good girl, Clover,” the slaver croons.

Then, he turns to us.

“Ah, I knew the two of you would show up here. Welcome.”

A look of horror crossed Percy’s face as she heard shouts outside. Bloodied slavers barged through the door, and one of them was grabbing DeLoria by the collar.

“Butch! Where are the others?!”

“They got away, don’t worry about- ow! That hurts!” One of them kicked the greaser.

“Not for long,” he tells the greaser. Then, he turns to my partner.

“Word travels fast in the wasteland, you know. It didn’t take long for us to figure out what you’re up to, my dear. The two of you haven’t really been subtle about it. Paradise Falls has contacts everywhere. It didn’t take much for one of them to strong-arm Church into telling us what you’re up to.”

“Bastard!” Percy spits. “What have you done with him?!”

The two women restraining her keep her down as she tries to wriggle free.

“Let’s just say that Jotun sent him into an early retirement.”

That dangerous look, the one that frightens me, is back on Percy’s face. Her mouth is pressed into a tight line, trembling in her fury.

“And you,” he turns to me. “Who would’ve thought that you’d be back here, fifteen years later, Charon? Or should I say, Artyom Volkov.”

In the corner of my eye, Percy is looking at me with uncertainty. “Artyom Volkov?”

“That’s right, Miss Zhou. That’s your bodyguard’s name, before he was brainwashed into submission. There are a lot of things that you don’t know about him. Did you know that aside from helping us acquire new merchandise in the past, he was a war criminal, before the bombs dropped 200 years ago?”

“Liar. Charon can’t even remember most of his life before that. How could you know such a thing?”

“You never bothered to learn his history? My dear, I simply asked him all those years ago. Artyom here probably locked those memories away when I sold him to Ahzrukhal. Fifteen years is a very long time and you’re bound to misplace some memories, but I suppose someone as young as you wouldn’t know.”

Percy is breathing hard, looking at me with those wet and wide eyes, and I couldn’t look at her. The entire ordeal felt like peeling gauze off a wound that didn’t quite heal, or my skin being charred by hellfire from an atom bomb.

“Charon, tell me he’s lying.”

I can’t answer her. She’s no longer holding my contract.

“Answer her, Charon,” Eulogy orders me, and I comply, bile rising to my throat.

“He’s not.”

My new master steps closer, and grabs my partner’s jaw.

“I could put you in the pen as breeding stock, like this boy here,” Eulogy said, motioning to Butch.

“But you know, you remind me of my Clover here,” he continues. “Crazy girl, and I’m an expert on crazy girls. I just know you’d be crazy in the sack too. You just need to be housebroken.”

“Fuck you,” Percy spits.

“Soon, babe, soon. Now, Charon, take Miss 101 and her friend here to their new quarters.”

I feel it, the ghost of an electric shock shooting upward to my brain again.

But I can withstand it now.

“No.”

Percy and Butch look up to me, and before the burn can incapacitate me again, I whip out my shotgun and shot Jones in the head, twice. One to kill him, another out of spite.

My shotgun clatters to the floor, and the shocked slave girls couldn’t do anything as Percy escapes their grasp and takes back my contract from Eulogy’s dead hands.

“You disobeyed another order,” Percy gasps, looking at me with a soft look.

A piercing shriek filled the room as the girls lunged at me, but Percy shot one of them in the head. The other one who got too close, she whips with her pistol.

“Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa, Percy wait! These girls are slaves too! We can’t just shoot ‘em,” DeLoria exclaims, rushing over to the fallen girl. DeLoria attempts to help her up, but she scratches his chest, kicking and screaming, and she turns to me, manic.

“You son of a bitch! You killed daddy! You killed Mr. Eulogy, you killed him, you killed him! I hate you, you fucking shuffler!” she shrieks, like a petulant child. A deranged, petulant child.

Percy knocks her out cold. “You’re welcome to carry her, Butch, if you care so much.”

“Percy…”

Limping, I place the last C4 explosive while Percy loots the place clean. Then, she comes and wraps her arm around my waist, supporting me, holding me like she did the first time I ever got injured in her employ.

We hear heavy footsteps, and Cross comes into view, offering us a helping hand. Behind us, DeLoria carries the unconscious slave girl in his arms. I’d never thought I’d see the day when he’ll care for anyone other than himself.

I’d never thought I’d see the day that I would be free from my contract either, but here we are.

“Percy, I think I’m ready.”

My partner looks up to me, her eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“You guys go on ahead,” she tells Cross and the others. “We just have some unfinished business to attend to.”

We sit outside Eulogy’s pad, her back against my chest, and Percy fishes my contract out of her PipBoy glove. Her glasses are fogging up as it starts snowing again. I dug in my pockets, and after palming through crushed cigarette boxes, I found a lighter.

“Charon, are you sure about this?”

I nod, trembling as I hand her the lighter.

“Do it.”

I expected my skin to be set ablaze as the fire ate the edges of my contract, or for agonizing pain to shoot up my spine and kill me in an instant, but instead, I stared as my paper soul went up in flames without eliciting a single reaction.

As the paper turned to ashes, I sat with my partner in silence.

“It’s done. Charon, your contract is gone- Charon, no!”

I never noticed my hand reaching for Percy’s pistol involuntarily, aiming it to my temple, and firing.

When I opened my eyes, Percy was on top of me, breathing hard, her small hand restraining my arm in a surprising show of strength. She wrenches the pistol from me and throws it a few feet away from us, then she looks me in the eyes, her glasses slipping off of her face and landing on my chest.

I can feel her breath on my lips.

Burying her face in my chest, a sob wracked her body. I held her as tight as I could.

“C’mon, let’s send this place to hell.”

Reunited with our companions, I hand Percy the detonator.

Paradise Falls is no more.

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donnieluvsthings · 4 years ago

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anyway i’m still thinkin about roceit newsies au...this got SO LONG its basically a bullet fic of the whole plot at this point but uh enjoy!!! its has all the sides and remy and emile bc i rly wanted to shove them all in here aldkaldka

this is based on the musical mostly bc i have never watched the original movie all the way thru oops

roman is jack and remus is crutchie (thanks boop). remus does crazy stunts even with his crutch and roman is Constantly Worried TM and overprotective of remus even tho remus can DEF take care of himself

on the other hand remus knows roman hates working as a newsboy and just wants to escape to some small town where he can become a local artist of some sort. remus wants roman to go CHASE his DREAMS even tho he’s afraid roman might leave him behind

roman may be the actor but remus is great at coming up with gruesome yet intriguing headlines that get people to buy papers and would totally be a great author of some sort

ON THAT NOTE roman dreams of santa fe and can picture it perfectly but whenever he tries to explain it, it comes out as senseless rambling and longing. it’s remus who can really put into words what roman feels (bc theyre bros and they just GET each other)

virgil as davey, patton as les, logan as sarah (its the musical but they have an extra sibling okay. let me have older brother logan)

virgil and patton show up and virgil is super untrusting and hates that theyre basically lying to get people to buy papers but patton is just EXCITED to meet New People!!! and looks up to roman (and remus), like, instantly

it helps that roman promises to take them to a real actual theater after they sell all their papers owned by the one the only emile picani !!!

also roman is the one who first calls him “virge” which is like jack saying “davey” instead of david. yes this is necessary information

so they sell their papers (and roman briefly meets an ESPECIALLY handsome guy wink wink) and go see emile who performs some variant of That’s Rich like the star he is. u cant take singer emile away from me

roman also performs bc i said so. he spies someone watching him during his act up above the stage and climbs up there when he’s done

janus. its janus, if that wasnt clear or u dont know the plot of the newsies musical aldkaldlal

so yeah janus as katherine!! he may be pulitzer’s son but that doesn’t mean his father wants him to be a journalist. pulitzer thinks he should prepare to inherit the publishing company or be a banker or smth, not be a journalist

i just think janus’ “society is a LIE” vibe fits with katherine. i mean, just look at Watch What Happens. “give life’s little guys some ink,” “they’ll storm the gates,” “rich greedy sourpusses” .... idk it just SCREAMS janus to me

ALSO, katherine technically lies about her identity for like 3/4 of the musical, so

anyway! roman meets janus and janus is all suave and lowkey flirty at first but then roman starts flirting BACK and jan is like “uh oh how to talk to cute boys????”

so then he gets all “i have more important things to do” *hair flip* and goes back to the article he’s supposed to be writing about emile’s theater (a lot of his notes are about roman’s performance but nobody needs to know that shhh)

roman draws a portrait of jan and leaves it there and janus gently & dramatically picks it up, stares at it, and tucks it into his suit with a soft smile

uh oh prices for papers went up! virgil steps up and helps roman lead a strike. turns out his caution works GREAT with roman’s determination and they keep each other from going towards extreme overthinking (virgil) or extreme stupidity (roman). they are a TEAM and they are BESTIES.

remus: lets SET THE PAPERS ON FIRE

roman, starry eyed: HECK YEAH LETS DO IT

virgil: how about we dont do that and instead form a union

and then the twins are like GOOD IDEA and tell everyone else. virgil may be a cautious and untrusting and afraid of public speaking but he has good ideas dangit

the intro to seize the day yknow? virgil says a Good Idea (which can probably be traced back to him always listening to logan rant about his studies) and roman spreads the message in a Firm Rebellion-y way to the other newsies

and patton is there doing his absolute best. he may be small but he knows that this isn’t right or fair to the newsboys and he’s ready to physically fight someone

enter logan who is lowkey really proud of virgil for stepping outside of his comfort zone to do whats right. logan may be scared out of his mind for his little bros but he’s gonna help them as much as he can between college and trying to work side jobs to help their fam

basically logan knows janus and tells him that he should report on the strike bc logan wants to help his bros AND his friend however he can

cue janus seeing his opportunity and TAKING it. he’s gonna write about this strike even if no one else will!!! take THAT, father

he also maybe possibly wanted to see roman again. but roman never needs to know that okay what he doesnt know cant hurt him

seize the day happens!!!! they strike!!!! they r powerful!!! but then no one else from any other sections of new york strike with them and they lowkey get rekt

remus mocks the delanceys but that was a BAD decision cuz now theyre targeting him and he gets taken to the REFUGE

roman is SAD bc his brother’s been taken away, no one showed up to help them strike, his brother’s been taken away and he just wants to get OUT of there. run away to santa fe, his ideal world, but he can’t even articulate that because his brother is gone

how is that just act one. how have i written so much yet left out so much???

remus is at the refuge and he’s a little more scared, now, that roman really will just leave him behind even though he knows deep down that roman would never.

still. he writes roman a letter and maybe he goes into a little too much detail about his injuries and the refuge but hey, that’s remus. he writes about how maybe they can run away to santa fe together. he signs it “your brother” and i CRY because they are the best bros

roman reads it and ALSO cries. especially because there it is, the description of santa fe he can never come up with by himself. remus rly does know him, huh

total scene change: janus finds the other newsies (and logan) in a restaurant? bar? and is like “!!! ur on the FRONT PAGE on my newspaper” which i just decided is called the snake instead of the sun

virgil didn’t totally trust janus would follow thru at first but now he’s convinced. they did it!!!! theyre on the front page!!!! the world WILL know!!!!

cue tapdancing!!!!!! king of new york is an absolute bop. i need logan tapdancing daintily and then janus LAUNCHING into some complex tap routine bc the newsies think he too will dance daintily

i know they wouldnt,,, actually dance but just let me have this self-indulgence in this entirely self-indulgent au

the Bro Trio + janus go hunt down roman to show him the paper and find him painting stuff at emile’s all sad and upset bc, well, they lost and remus was taken

but virgil is trying to show him that they made progress!!! sure pulitzer won but he won the BATTLE and actually the poor guy’s head is spinning bc theyre gonna win.

“cmon, ro, if i’m is telling you to be optimistic there must be hope”

see virgil calls him RO and its cute bc roman gave him the nickname ‘virge’ and now virgil’s giving him the nickname ‘ro’ theyre just besties okay

roman is unconvinced but then logan, who roman has actually never met before, steps in with Facts and Statistics, and patton adds some adorable words of encouragement, and janus sassily waves their Front Page Story at him, and roman starts realizing they DO have a chance

but then uh oh pulitzer threatens remus and the Bro Trio and roman is forced to speak out against the strike or risk ruining the lives of everyone he loves. and also he finds out that janus is pulitzer’s son and is Betrayed TM

theres some “he’s just trying to build up a false confidence in u so u can plummet to even greater depths” parallels in there somewhere....u can’t trust many people as a newsie and when roman DOES trust someone turns out he’s the son of the guy ur trying to fight

so roman says overnight in pulitzer’s basement, sleeping on an uncomfortable old printing press, and makes his decision

now for the RALLY

remy is spot conlon bc he DESERVES to be the leader of the brooklyn newsies. brooklyn, flushing, richmond, etc all show up to a newsies rally and are like YEAH!!! STRIKE!!!!

virgil is trying to tame the crowd nervously and keeps waiting for roman to show up bc they work best when theyre working together!!!! finally roman’s there and virgil introduces him (the attention isnt solely on him now thank gosh)

but then roman starts talking about how they dont stand a chance and how they shouldnt go on strike and virgil is just. confused and upset and angry

especially when he sees one of pulitzer’s employees slipping roman wads of money

virgil corners roman afterwards and is absolutely RIPPING into him. roman could fix this if he would just tell virgil the truth, tell him he doesn’t care about the money, he just wanted to keep him and patton and logan safe—

but roman knows if he tells virgil, then virgil will turn all his anger towards pulitzer, will be able to convince roman to keep going, and roman won’t. he can’t put virgil, put his family, at risk.

so he lies.

he doesn’t mean any of it. but he says it.

and maybe he kind of understands why janus lied, too.

he says he’s never had anyone to take care of him or remus, not like virgil does with his parents and his older brother. he says virgil will never know what it’s like.

virgil scoffs and glares and beneath all his fury looks crushed. but there’s still fire in his eyes, a spark roman saw that first day that only grew and engulfed any doubts virgil ever had.

roman says he’ll take the money and go, leave new york behind.

virgil says fine. we don’t need you. because you know what? all those words you said were mine. i didn’t have the courage to say them back then but now i do. we don’t need you.

(because i watched that scene in the movie and like YES go OFF davey i mean virgil)

roman flees to his “bedroom” which is really just a fire escape and just longs for remus’ reassurance. he has the letter but it doesn’t seem as encouraging now, not when he’s lost everything else important to him.

then janus shows up and roman’s mad at him but not mad enough to kick him out. and janus watched roman just give up on everything they’ve been fighting for and just wants to know WHY. why did he turn his back on the newsies when they were so close?

and roman, tired and upset and defeated, just says they wouldn’t succeed. even if all the newsies went on strike no one would report on it, anyway, because pultizer has all the printing presses on lockdown, even the one janus published from. and they already lost once! what more could they possibly do?

roman looks out over the railing, chest heaving from his rant, longing for his imaginary santa fe where he doesn’t have to face his failures. janus stands next to him and puts his hand over roman’s.

“i don’t have a simple answer to that question....but here’s a start.”

and janus pulls out a paper with roman’s words (well, and virgil’s, because virgil said it first but roman rephrased it powerfully, and that’s why they worked as a team) typed out, words that make the strike not about newsies but about ALL working children in the city who are being exploited for their youth and naivety.

it’s an entire article, expertly written. if published it would get the word out to the other newsies that they haven’t given up and show other working children and adults alike that this is IMPORTANT and they aren’t going away.

and then roman remembers his drawings of the refuge and remus’ graphic descriptions and shows them to janus and hey!!! they have a plan!!! they just need to print it....

roman’s like yo there’s an old press in ur dad’s basement he’d never suspect anything

and theyre both so excited and theyre gonna DO this, FINALLY, and janus sees hope on roman’s face again, maybe permanently this time, and janus just leans in and kisses him.

its very sweet and cute and theyre in LOVE

they pull back and kinda stand there awkwardly for a few seconds before both of them start grinning

and they both know its fragile, that they’ve hurt each other and trust was cracked, but it wasn’t broken completely, and they can fix this. they believe in each other and that’s enough for now.

and then they go find virgil at his house

roman knocks on the door and virgil opens it and just. glares at roman. and roman starts rambling apologies and explanations and tries to tell virgil about their plan and did he mention he’s sorry

virgil kinda just stares at him as he goes on and on and the only thing that stops him is patton running out and launching himself at roman

then logan appears behind virgil, and virgil kinda just smiles

“glad to have u back. again.”

and then they go sneak into pulitzer’s basement and print the article with jan’s writing and ro’s drawings and remus’ descriptions and the other newsies go spread the papers ALL around the city

the next morning EVERYONE is out on strike!!! u cant get ANYWHERE without seeing ppl, newsies or otherwise, filling the streets with chants of “seize the day”

roman, with the Bro Trio and Janus trailing close behind, waltzs on in to pulitzer’s office and flings the money pulitzer gave him back on the desk and is like whatcha gonna do NOW, joe??

pulitzer angrily tells them he’s a fool for going back on their deal and logan steps in sayin pulitzer is a fool for letting this get so out of hand over a 10 cent price increase. his sales are down 70%!! objectively the price increase was like the worst business decision ever

virgil’s like plus it’s making u look bad that ur business is the reason most of these kids are suffering. people really love kids, mr pulitzer and patton smiles brightly but in like a menacing way

then emile walks in with a ~dazzling smile~ and is like ur son told me about this whole situation, it’d be a shame if i contacted my good friend governor roosevelt who won’t be as kind as these brave newsies since u tried so hard to stop him from being elected :)

((in the show roosevelt is actually there but i want emile to have a moment to SHINE))

so pulitzer’s like FINE and talks to roman alone and roman wears him down, throwing words from janus, virgil, and pulitzer himself right in pulitzer’s face until FINALLY they have a deal. he’ll lower the prices by half AND pulitzer will buy back whatever they don’t sell full price

roman bursts out of the office into the streets where all the newsies are waiting and is like WE WONNN

and since they published all that stuff about the refuge in the paper, the guy who runs it is being arrested and REMUS IS FREE

the twins hug for like a full two minutes

then pulitzer offers roman a job as a political cartoonist and roman’s like. well idk now that this is over i should probably...head out

bc lowkey he’s thinking virgil still doesn’t wanna see roman ever again and he did say he would leave, so

but then virgil’s like come on, ro, you don’t really think we want u to leave, do u? what’s santa fe got that new york aint? tarantulas? sandstorms? stampedes? you can’t go to santa fe what if you DIE—

and logan says new york’s got us!

patton: and we’re family, right?

then janus is like you got a union to lead! and...you got me.

and remus is like bro, anyone can dream, all you do is close ur eyes! but some made up world is all you’ll ever see. (bc he’s the wordsy one, u see. he helps roman have the poetic realization that his santa fe isn’t real, but this IS)

so roman says well if u guys INSIST.....and then he takes jan’s hand and kinda asks w his eyes and then kisses jan in front of all the newsies who proceed to cheer obnoxiously

when they break apart roman leads janus by the hand over to the paper-buying-cart and slaps some couns down on the table and BUYS SOME PAPERS BC THEYRE NEWSIES BABEY

and everyone lived happily ever after🥰

#sanders sides #roceit #creativitwins #newsies #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #bullet fic #repost bc tumblr glitched hardcore #uhh anyway the original tags i had were smth like #‘i rewatched newsies and i love it also i love jeremy jordan also stan newsies the musical’ aldkaldla #roceit newsies au #donnie writes

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bountyofbeads · 5 years ago

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Will Brexit Bring the Troubles Back to Northern Ireland? https://nyti.ms/2rHSWA7

This is a fascinating look at the very real and immediate consequences of Brexit. While looking back at the violent sectarian history and what Brexit could awaken in the very near future. WELL WORTH THE TIME

"In Northern Ireland, Brexit is stirring up an especially volatile brew. Sectarian tensions have been roiling in one form or another since at least the 17th century, when King James I encouraged the migration of Protestant colonists from Scotland and England to the northern Irish province of Ulster, where they enjoyed special privileges. An act of the British Parliament in 1920, during the Irish War of Independence, led to Ireland’s partition, creating a Protestant-majority Northern Ireland. Catholic grievances over discrimination fueled animosities that helped precipitate the Troubles. By the time of the Good Friday Agreement, some 3,600 people had been killed and tens of thousands injured. The peace deal created a power-sharing system of government, but it did not bring reconciliation."

Will Brexit Bring the Troubles Back to Northern Ireland?

As the United Kingdom confronts the prospect of dissolution, old factions are bracing for the possibility of new violence.

By James Angelo's | Published Dec. 30, 2019 | New York Times | Posted January 2, 2020 |

Belfast, like Berlin and Sarajevo, draws many visitors not despite its history of murderous conflict but because of it. Guides there take tourists to “peace walls,” the tall barricades of corrugated metal and concrete erected during the sectarian conflict, known as the Troubles, that began in 1968 and ravaged Northern Ireland for three decades. The walls were built to divide Protestant and Catholic enclaves and to prevent people from killing one another as the spiraling cycle of attacks took hold. Today tourists from around the world visit the walls and take selfies. This type of tourism is more peculiar in Belfast than in some other cities shaped by a legacy of atrocity. You can visit the intact parts of the Berlin Wall, for instance, with the knowledge that the wall no longer serves its original purpose. In Belfast, however, the walls are still there to divide, their continued presence deemed necessary to prevent a resurgence of violence.

Tours of the peace walls are often given by ex-paramilitary combatants who were active during the Troubles. The bald, stout, tattooed driver who took me on one such tour last June said he was “connected” to a paramilitary called the Ulster Defense Association, or the U.D.A., which was responsible for the killing of hundreds. He described himself as “no angel” during the Troubles and asked that I use only his first name, Robert, so as not to attract attention from the authorities — those involved can still face criminal prosecution — or from old foes. “We’re all paranoid as hell here,” he told me shortly after I got into his van. “The war is not over. Far from it.”

Robert had a quick, friendly smile and a fast wit that made it a little hard to imagine his past paramilitary connection. But those were almost unimaginably violent times. In the rote manner of tour guides everywhere, Robert told me his father was a U.D.A. member who in 1975 was shot dead by the Irish Republican Army, or I.R.A., the most lethal of the paramilitary groups, at the bus depot where he worked. Robert himself had dodged three I.R.A. assassination attempts, he said, and the organization also “blew up” his brother-in-law and murdered seven of his friends. We pulled up to a section of the peace wall in an industrial part of West Belfast that divides the neighborhood around Falls Road, heavily Catholic, from that around Shankill Road, which is heavily Protestant. Robert pointed out the metal gate that opens during the day to allow traffic to pass and closes again at night. In 2013, the government of Northern Ireland announced a goal of removing the walls within 10 years, but Robert was against this. The situation, he said, was still too turbulent. “We’re not ready for it,” he said. “I’m sure you’re probably fed up with hearing about Brexit,” he said. “But people are worried about a bad deal, the wrong deal or no deal.” If things went badly, he added, “I think we’re going to need these walls more than ever.”

The 1998 peace deal, known as the Good Friday Agreement, subdued the violence in Northern Ireland, but it did not resolve the underlying sectarian conflict that propelled it. Northern Ireland is in the United Kingdom. “Unionists” or “loyalists” — who tend to identify as Protestant and as British — want it to remain that way. “Nationalists” or “republicans” — who tend to identify as Catholic and Irish — want a united Ireland. The peace between these factions was facilitated by a tangentially related circumstance: Both the United Kingdom and Ireland had by then joined the European Union. This arrangement ensured uninhibited trade across the border, helping to render it virtually invisible and placating many Irish nationalists with circumstances they deemed acceptable if not ideal.

At the time the peace agreement was signed, however, a different movement was growing across the Irish Sea in England: a skepticism of the European Union, bubbling up among voters on both ends of the political spectrum but embraced in particular by the conservative hard right. As populist, nationalist parties grew in strength across Europe and much of the globe, this skepticism culminated in the 2016 Brexit referendum. Few of the hard-line politicians who advocated Brexit seemed to consider the consequences their push to “take back control” would have on the delicate peace in Northern Ireland or, for that matter, on the cohesion of the United Kingdom itself. In the more than three years since the referendum, the matter of Northern Ireland has presented a unique and treacherous stumbling block to any agreement between the British government and the European Union on the terms of withdrawal. How would the United Kingdom “take back control” of its borders without hardening the Irish border, thereby endangering the Good Friday Agreement? However this question was answered, one side or the other in the sectarian divide was bound to be upset.

On Dec. 12, voters in the United Kingdom gave Prime Minister Boris Johnson and his Conservative Party a sweeping parliamentary majority based on his pledge to “get Brexit done.” His success, attributable in part to the electorate’s sheer exhaustion with the Brexit limbo, means the United Kingdom will almost certainly leave the European Union by Jan. 31. This occasion, however, will by no means bring closure to a United Kingdom that has become so deeply fractured — not only along party lines but also by geography — that many people predict the most salient and enduring consequence will be a kind of monumental self-immolation: the breakup of the United Kingdom itself.

As if to illustrate the volatility of the matter, Robert pulled up to a mural on the Protestant side of the wall. Murals are ubiquitous on both sides of the divide, sanctifying former combatants who are invariably considered coldblooded murderers on the opposite side. This one, repainted around the time of the Brexit referendum, depicted Stephen McKeag, a commander in the U.D.A. known as Top Gun, against a cloudy sky, as if floating in heaven. “If you believe the stories you hear, he was one of the ones who won most of the trophies, what they call a trophy for the amount of people he has supposed to have allegedly killed,” Robert told me. McKeag, indeed known as one of the U.D.A.’s most lethal assassins, died in 2000 of a drug overdose. “Remember With Pride,” the mural read. Several tourists snapped photos. Robert got out of the van and shook hands with another tour guide, a man who looked much like him, with a bald head and dark sunglasses. “Thirty years ago, we would have been trying to kill each other,” Robert said. The other guide, apparently a republican ex-combatant, nodded in agreement. They exchanged a few niceties. Robert got back in the van.

“We’re friendly, but we don’t fully trust each other,” Robert said, his tone quickly changing. He showed me a picture on his phone of the same man at a militant republican parade. He then showed me a video, taken the previous month, outside a wake for a former member of the Irish National Liberation Army, or I.N.L.A., a Marxist republican paramilitary group formed in 1974. The I.N.L.A. ostensibly decommissioned its weapons along with other paramilitary groups as part of the peace process. The video, however, showed six men in balaclavas. One of them carried an assault rifle. They lined up in formation, and the gunman fired several shots into the sky. The mourners applauded.

Robert pointed to the soaring twin steeples of a Catholic cathedral on the other side of the wall. The shots had been fired around there just a few weeks earlier, he said. “That’s why I say these guys have never gone away,” he added. “That’s why we don’t trust each other.” As long as people on this side of the wall felt threatened, he said, loyalist paramilitaries would remain. “You think we’re going to go away?”

While British euro-skepticism is far from new, its culmination in Brexit represents the most tangible manifestation yet of the re-emergence of the nationalist strains in Europe — and beyond — that the European Union was meant to temper. The British conservatives who advocated Brexit acted partly under pressure from the far-right U.K. Independence Party, which under its former leader Nigel Farage grew more popular in the years leading up to the referendum with a staunchly pro-Brexit, anti-immigration platform. Implicit in the “take back control” message employed by the “Brexiteers” were themes promoted by populist-right movements everywhere: a reassertion of national sovereignty coupled with the claim that only those who advocate this represent the true will of the people against a globalized elite. As far-right parties have risen across Europe, Brexit has provided them a concrete victory — and it’s possibly not the last, as such parties in countries like Italy, France and Hungary seek to corrode the European Union from within.

The more immediate consequence of Brexit, however, may be not the dissolution of the European Union but the dissolution of the United Kingdom. Brexit and Boris Johnson’s decisive election victory were propelled primarily by voters in England. The United Kingdom, however, is made up of three additional smaller countries — Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland — that contain nationalist movements of another sort. In Scotland and Northern Ireland in particular, left-wing nationalist parties perceive the source of unwanted foreign meddling to emanate from London rather than from Brussels. Majorities of people in Scotland and Northern Ireland, in fact, cast ballots in favor of remaining in the European Union, and many of these voters now see Brexit as a reason to split from the United Kingdom. This is particularly the case in Scotland, where the pro-independence Scottish National Party, or S.N.P., won a landslide victory in December. When Scotland held a referendum on independence from the United Kingdom in 2014, 55 percent of voters elected to remain. Now, in light of Brexit, the S.N.P. is calling for another referendum. Polls suggest the result would be much closer now. “Independence is coming,” Ian Blackford, the leader of the Scottish Nationalist Party in the British Parliament, said during a debate there in October. “We will take our place as a proud European nation.”

In Northern Ireland, Brexit is stirring up an especially volatile brew. Sectarian tensions have been roiling in one form or another since at least the 17th century, when King James I encouraged the migration of Protestant colonists from Scotland and England to the northern Irish province of Ulster, where they enjoyed special privileges. An act of the British Parliament in 1920, during the Irish War of Independence, led to Ireland’s partition, creating a Protestant-majority Northern Ireland. Catholic grievances over discrimination fueled animosities that helped precipitate the Troubles. By the time of the Good Friday Agreement, some 3,600 people had been killed and tens of thousands injured. The peace deal created a power-sharing system of government, but it did not bring reconciliation. Currently, the two largest parties elected to the Northern Ireland Assembly are Sinn Fein — once the I.R.A.’s political wing — and the socially conservative Democratic Unionist Party, or D.U.P., which advocates continued union with Britain. The partisan rift between them has been so great that the assembly has not fully convened for nearly three years. Many people in Northern Ireland, exhausted with the sectarian paradigm, have tried to move beyond it; this is evident from the recent growth of the cross-community Alliance Party.

Still, the sectarian rift remains palpable in much of daily life, influencing everything from which soccer team locals support to the everyday language they use. Many Irish nationalists, for example, refer to Northern Ireland as “the North of Ireland.” Schools in Northern Ireland remain mostly segregated along religious lines, and children often learn disparate versions of history. Attempts to administer justice for past atrocities seem only to deepen divisions. A former British paratrooper known to the public as Soldier F is now on trial on charges of murdering two people during the massacre known as Bloody Sunday in 1972, when British troops opened fire on unarmed Catholic demonstrators in Londonderry, killing 13 that day. For many Irish nationalists, the trial is painfully belated and woefully insufficient. Many loyalists, however, see it as a witch hunt, and it’s not uncommon to see flags celebrating Soldier F’s parachute regiment fluttering in loyalist strongholds.

Sectarian tensions are most evident in the so-called interface areas, urban working-class neighborhoods where Catholic and Protestant communities live in proximity but often barely interact. In addition to the physical walls of separation — of which there are some 100 in Belfast alone — territory in such neighborhoods is demarcated by paramilitary flags hung by front doors or sometimes by painted curbs, either in the colors of the Union Jack or the Irish tricolor. Residents in these areas often avoid patronizing shops located on what is deemed enemy turf, even if they have to walk farther to buy what they want. These communities live “cheek by jowl, but in separate worlds,” John Brewer, a sociologist at Queen’s University Belfast, told me. Publicly funded cross-community programs for youths in these areas aim to bridge the rift. But poverty and unemployment in interface areas tend to be high, leaving many young men hopeless and vulnerable to radicalization. Rioting and violent clashes in these areas are not uncommon.

Attitudes on Brexit, too, largely fall along sectarian lines. A majority of Protestants in Northern Ireland — 60 percent — voted to leave the European Union, according to one survey, and the D.U.P., long skeptical of the European Union, backed Brexit. A majority of Catholics — 85 percent — voted to stay, a position also backed by Sinn Fein, in great part because many people feared that Brexit would result in a hardening of the Irish border. The fate of that border presented the main obstacle in negotiations between successive British conservative governments and the European Union on a withdrawal agreement. The European Union, mindful that a hard border would undermine the Good Friday Agreement and quite possibly lead to violence, wanted a deal that avoided customs checks at the border. In October, Boris Johnson found a partial solution by agreeing to a new customs border in the Irish Sea, between Britain and Northern Ireland; this means checks on goods traveling within the United Kingdom instead of on the Irish border. But hard-line unionists have been outraged by the deal, with some calling it the “betrayal act.” English conservatives, they believe, have abandoned Northern Ireland and endangered its place in the United Kingdom. At the same time, many Irish nationalists, though relieved that the immediate prospect of a hard Irish border has faded, have nevertheless been so angered by the uncertainty of the last years that they see continued membership in the United Kingdom as less tenable than ever.

Passions around Brexit are heated across the United Kingdom, but nowhere are the stakes potentially higher than in Northern Ireland. A 2015 report on paramilitaries drafted in part by MI5, the United Kingdom’s domestic intelligence agency, said that all the main paramilitary groups that operated during the Troubles remain intact; moreover, not all their weapons were decommissioned. The report’s authors considered it very unlikely that these paramilitaries would return to political violence, but the fact that they continue to hold on to weapons just in case seemed to underscore the fragility of the peace. At the same time, some so-called dissident republican groups have continued, since the Good Friday Agreement, to launch violent attacks in the name of achieving a united Ireland. The police judge the terrorist threat from these groups, including one calling itself the New I.R.A., to be “severe.” Dissident republicans have tried to use anger over Brexit as a rallying cry to win new recruits. Amid the confusion and bitterness sparked by Brexit, one thing seems clear: Northern Ireland’s delicate, hard-won equilibrium has been upset, and the consequences are potentially grave.

The headquarters of Saoradh, a small, self-declared political party whose name means “liberation” in Irish, is on a narrow street in Londonderry, Northern Ireland’s second-largest city, close to the Irish border. A mural on the facade of the building pretty well encapsulates the group’s outlook: It shows a masked paramilitary soldier wielding a rocket-propelled-grenade launcher under the slogan “Unfinished Revolution.” Northern Irish police officers say Saoradh is inextricably linked to the New I.R.A.

Inside the headquarters one afternoon in July, a thin and meticulously coiffed 27-year-old named Paddy Gallagher introduced himself to me as the party’s national press officer. While Saoradh calls itself a party, it does not engage in electoral politics, because this, as Gallagher put it, would mean becoming part of the “British infrastructure.” The party consists of “disaffected republicans,” he said, who “don’t believe the signing of the Good Friday Agreement was a good thing.” I asked him if the peace the agreement made possible wasn’t a good thing. He objected to the premise that such a peace exists. “The ongoing struggle for Irish unification and freedom hasn’t ended,” he said; people remain “willing and capable of carrying out acts of resistance.” He then provided an example: A few weeks earlier, a bomb was placed under a police officer’s car in Belfast. This was true. The officer spotted the bomb before getting in his car at a golf club, and it was safely defused; the New I.R.A. claimed responsibility. “I would assume that it was intended to kill that member of the British crown forces,” Gallagher told me.

On other occasions, the New I.R.A., which was formed in 2012, has killed intended targets. It claimed responsibility for attacks that killed two prison officers: a man named David Black, who was shot dead in 2012 in his car on the way to work, and Adrian Ismay, who died in 2016 after a bomb exploded under his van. The New I.R.A. killing that sparked the most attention and outrage came one night last April, during a republican riot in a Londonderry neighborhood called Creggan; when a masked rioter fired shots in the direction of an armored police vehicle, a bullet struck and killed Lyra McKee, a 29-year-old journalist who had arrived on the scene to report on the riot. A few days later, the New I.R.A. released a statement to a local newspaper saying that its volunteers were engaging “British crown forces” when McKee was “tragically killed,” depicting her death as collateral damage. Police officers later raided Saoradh’s headquarters as part of their investigation into the shooting, though no one has yet been charged with McKee’s murder. When I visited Creggan, I found signs posted on street lamps warning people not to cooperate with the police. “Informers will be shot,” read one of them, signed by the “I.R.A.”

Gallagher denied that Saoradh supports or has had links to the New I.R.A. — or any other armed groups — though he did not disavow their violent methods. “The Irish people can use any and all means necessary to achieve Irish freedom, whether it’s armed struggle or not,” he said. “The party believes that is up to the Irish people.” Gallagher spoke as if observing events his party played no active part in. The effect was menacing, particularly when he talked about the possibility that Brexit would result in a hard Irish border. “If there is a hard border in Ireland, and it is a manned or fixed installation, I can only assume it would be attacked,” he said, just as such installations were in the past.

Sinn Fein — the party that represents mainstream republicanism and whose leaders participated in the negotiations that led to the Good Friday Agreement — has offered a stark political response to the anger Brexit has fomented. Enshrined in the Good Friday Agreement is the “principle of consent,” which means that the people of Northern Ireland have a right to decide to which nation they want to belong. The demographics of Northern Ireland have been steadily shifting, and within the decade, a majority of its people will be Catholic, making the prospect of a united Ireland seem almost inevitable. This population shift is evident in election results that increasingly favor nationalists; in the United Kingdom parliamentary election in December, voters in Northern Ireland elected more nationalist representatives than unionist representatives for the first time in the country’s hundred-year history. Now Brexit has provided an opportunity for Sinn Fein to argue that the time to make that choice is near.

In July, I met Michelle O’Neill, Sinn Fein’s vice president, in her cavernous office in Northern Ireland’s palatial Parliament building. Brexit, she told me, had changed the paradigm in Northern Ireland, necessitating a referendum on Irish unity. Northern Ireland, she said, should not be dragged out of the European Union against its will. She seemed eager to assure not only her base but also the moderate unionists who voted to remain in the European Union and who might swing such a referendum. “I want to see a united Ireland,” O’Neill said. “But it has to be an inclusive Ireland. It has to be one where those who have an Irish identity and those who have a British identity feel part and parcel, feel that they have their place, and it’s valued and cherished.”

This seemed a shrewd political approach. But Northern Ireland’s history often reads like a case study in how the most extreme elements in the society can wreak undue havoc. Northern Irish police officers have warned that the threat from violent dissident republican groups remains severe even without the prospect of a hard Irish border. On the other side of the divide, many are outraged in the belief that the prospect of militant republican violence drove Boris Johnson and the European Union to keep the Irish border open at the expense of Northern Ireland’s place in the United Kingdom.

After Johnson’s deal was announced, a few hundred loyalists, including reputed paramilitary members, met in East Belfast to discuss how they should respond to their perceived betrayal. Following the meeting, Jamie Bryson, a self-described “loyalist activist,” told local reporters that the Brexit deal would be met with mass resistance. “One of the main reasons we were told there can be no border on the island of Ireland is because dissident republicans may attack it, but yet there’s been no consideration given to the loyalist community on how people may react to a border down the Irish Sea,” Bryson told a reporter from The Belfast Telegraph. “I don’t think anyone in loyalism wants to see violence. But obviously there’s a lot of anger at the minute.”

On a June evening in East Belfast, a group of men belonging to a Protestant fraternal organization called the Orange Order gathered at their meeting place in a red-brick Victorian hall for a special occasion: the unveiling of a new parade banner. The Orange Order is a staunchly unionist organization founded in 1795 and is named after William of Orange, the Protestant king who in the late 17th century took the throne after King James II, a Catholic, was deposed in the Glorious Revolution. Every year in Northern Ireland, Orangemen — who number around 30,000 — conduct thousands of parades, and they’ve been staging them for centuries. The biggest day of parading falls on July 12, a Protestant celebration that marks William’s decisive victory over James at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, and on the eve of the holiday, unionists light large bonfires. These parades were historically seen as a display of Protestant supremacy, and they frequently led to sectarian clashes. Today they usually go off peacefully, though often under a heavy police presence. Orangemen say the parades are an innocent expression of their culture. Many nationalists still view them as intimidating.

This particular lodge, called the Young Men’s Christian Total Abstinence Loyal Orange Lodge 747, consisted, contrary to its name, largely of older gentlemen who wore suits and ties along with the orange sashes worn by Orangemen. The abstinence in this case was real — the men drank juice out of wineglasses — and the event began with the singing of a hymn. Then the parade banner, which had been covered with a white sheet, was unveiled, revealing a depiction of William of Orange atop a white horse at the Battle of the Boyne. The men applauded the banner, put on their bowler hats and filed out into the street, where a neatly uniformed marching band awaited. The drummers snapped and pounded, the flutists piped and the men marched their new banner past the brick rowhouses and storefronts of East Belfast, a working-class stronghold blighted in parts by poverty. The Orangemen strutted past homes decorated with flags of loyalist paramilitaries and murals showing armed paramilitary men in balaclavas. It made for a somewhat jarring juxtaposition, seeing men of such apparent decorum pass such harsh images. The Orangemen ended their march with a rendition of “God Save the Queen.”

Back inside the hall, as they dined on plates of roast beef and potatoes, a Presbyterian minister named Mervyn Gibson, the grand secretary of the Grand Orange Lodge of Ireland, approached the lectern. “Today some are trying to bribe us out of the United Kingdom by claiming to offer us a better lifestyle in the Republic of Ireland,” he said. Gibson seemed to be referring to arguments that the Northern Ireland economy would flourish within a united Ireland. “Our loyalty and identity are not about economics,” Gibson went on, “not something to be bartered or traded.” Those now threatening a referendum on Irish unity, he added, were the same people who “tried to bomb and murder us out of the United Kingdom. They failed then, and they’ll fail again,” he said, and then concluded: “We’re born British, we’ll remain British, we’ll die British.” The men of the lodge responded: “Hear! Hear!”

The key question, it seemed, was how far these men would go to remain British. On another occasion, Gibson told me he would accept a democratic vote for Irish unity it if it came to that. Others, however, are more strident. Many loyalists feel a sense of decline as Catholics have gained more rights and upward mobility; young loyalist men in interface areas who used to be guaranteed factory jobs by virtue of their identity now face high unemployment and a sense that their standing in society has eroded. Such grievances seem to only reinforce people’s sense of identity. Loyalist paramilitaries feed off this to gain recruits, though according to the police, these groups are more often involved in organized crime than in politics. Still, in East Belfast, I observed how one paramilitary — the U.V.F. — had the capacity to stir up sectarian passions.

Last summer, in advance of the July 12 celebrations, members of Belfast’s republican-led City Council voted to remove a pyre made of wooden pallets in East Belfast — set up for the coming bonfire night — saying it was illegally on city property, namely the parking lot of a recreation center. Local loyalists responded angrily and vowed not to allow the city to remove the pyre, resulting in a standoff that, for days, became the main news story in town. At a demonstration one evening that drew hundreds of people to the site of the pyre, I met a number of masked young men who told me they were protecting the pyre from being dismantled. Jamie Bryson, the loyalist activist, spoke to the crowd. “Standing exposed tonight is the actual agenda of Belfast City Council,” he said. “And it is the total demolition of every aspect of Protestant unionist and loyalist culture,” he went on. “We will not have it!” This inspired a fervent round of applause. “No surrender!” shouted a woman next to me who wore a shirt that said “Me Wrong?” on it. “This is British land, and it will stay British land,” she then told me.

Police officers said the standoff was whipped up by the U.V.F. In a letter to the City Council, the police warned that any attempt to remove the pyre would “cause a severe, violent confrontation, orchestrated by the U.V.F.” and that the “use of firearms during such disorder cannot be ruled out.” Ultimately, the police did not move in. This was, Bryson later wrote in an online newsletter, a “momentous and hugely symbolic victory within the context of the larger cultural war.”

On the bonfire night, I went to another pyre on a barren plot next to a peace wall in West Belfast, where my tour guide, Robert, had taken me. As the sky slowly darkened, a D.J. played pulsing techno. Drunken teenagers milled around. A small, impromptu marching band of revelers formed. They sang a U.V.F. tune at the top of their lungs: “On my gravestone, carve a simple message: ‘Here lies a soldier of the U.V.F.’ ” I spoke to one woman among them who told me that this was all in good fun, just an expression of loyalist culture. But you couldn’t help noticing that the pyre that was about to be lit had been bedecked with flags of the Republic of Ireland.

______

James Angelos is a contributing writer for the magazine based in Berlin. He last wrote about anti-Semitism in Germany. Ivor Prickett is an Irish photographer. He was a finalist for the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in breaking-news photography for his coverage of battles in Mosul and Raqqa.

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loretranscripts · 6 years ago

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Lore Episode 13: Off the Path (Transcript) - 24th August 2015

tw: death, WWII

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Before we begin today’s episode, I wanted to let everyone know that I’ve added two new pages to the Lore website. First, I’ve posted a couple of upcoming live shows to a new live show page – the first show is in Portsmouth, New Hampshire on October 11th, followed by an afternoon show in New Haven, Connecticut on October 25th. I cannot tell you how excited I am to finally meet some of you, so, please, mark the date and come and see me. I also get asked a lot about show transcripts. My transcripts are full of historical references and footnotes, as well as links to relevant web pages and books. You can find out how to get the transcripts by visiting lorepodcast.com/transcripts. And one last thing – I’m also producing smaller, extra episodes of Lore. These are released on off-weeks, the weeks that Lore isn’t released through the podcast feed, and I post them to the Lore Patreon page. Supporters at the $5 or more level will have access to all of them – I’m just saying. And now, on with the show.

I’ve spent most of my life in the presence of troubled sports teams. Growing up in the Chicago area, I was always aware of how long the Cubs had gone without winning a World Series title. It was less a point of pain, and more a numb spot in the collective conscience of everyone around me. When I moved to Boston in the late 90s, I discovered a similar culture, this time centred around the Red Sox. Again, here was a team that had spent decades waiting; year after year, hope would be manufactured, and piled high in the cart of expectations, only to have that cart dumped on its side at the end of each season. Until 2004, that is – that was the year things changed. That was the year that brought the tower of hopelessness and doubt, a tower that took 86 years to construct – brick by brick, year after year – and brought it all crashing down. The wait was over. No, I don’t plan to talk about baseball today, but I do think the story of these teams, like the Cubs and the Red Sox, have something valuable to teach us about how our minds work, our ability to justify, to explain, to make sense of what seems so often to not make any sense at all; that’s what I find fascinating. Humans are so very good at finding reasons. Lurking behind the Red Sox’ 86 year wait like a shadow, and still hovering over the Cubs after 107 long years, are the excuses - more specifically, the curses. I mean, how else are we to explain such droughts, such logic-defying gaps in their score cards. Of course, both of these teams had to be cursed… right? But the bambino and billy-goat weren’t the first curses in history, and they were far from the last, and while some curses have been entertaining or even laughable, others have defied explanation long enough to make people wonder. In fact, some have even been deadly. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The word “curse” comes from the Old English word curs - just drop the “e” and you’ll have the root. The meaning isn’t actually very clear, but one of the uses of the Old English word is to denote a path or a route. Now, I’m not etymologist, but I think the word picture here is actually pretty clear: life is like a journey, sometimes we walk along the path of our choosing, and sometimes we’re pushed off and into the woods. It’s in those moments of chaos, of the unexpected and the unfortunate, that we feel like we’ve lost control. It’s as if someone, or something, has knocked us off the path we were travelling. In those moments, it might be appropriate to say that we’ve been cursed. The curse as a concept, though, has been around since the beginning of humanity. In the earliest examples, a curse was a punishment, handed out by a deity to misbehaving or devious human beings. The story of Adam and Eve in the Christian Bible is full of curses, dolled out after their disobedience to God’s instructions: hard physical work, painful childbirth, and expulsion from paradise are all described as curses. The Irish speak of curses as if they were something like birds. Once a curse is spoken aloud, they say it can float around a place until it finds its intended target. If the receiver wasn’t in the room, a curse could drift around for up to seven years. Not aimlessly, though – the curse was like a heat-seeking missile, waiting until the moment when the person would arrive. In Scandinavia, curses were more like bullets. A person might utter a curse at an enemy, but it could be turned back or returned to the speaker, where it would deal the effects of the curse on the speaker instead. Think Harry Potter wand duels, if you will. The Moors of the middle ages also had a very interesting tradition involving curses: it was said that if a man followed a prescribed set of rules and requirements, he was allowed to ask others to help him with something important. If, after jumping through all of the correct hoops, his request was still refused, a curse was said to descend upon all who refused him. Not a specific curse that he made up himself, but a general, social curse, as if tradition itself were punishing the unhelpful people. According to legend, the Celtic people of Europe used curses in a powerful way. If a tenant farmer was fired and evicted from the land that he had been working, he would quickly go and gather stones from all over the property. Then, he would put those stones in a lit fireplace, fall on his knees, and pray. What did he pray for, exactly? Well, they prayed that for as long as the stones remained unburnt, every possible curse would descend upon their landlords, his children, and all the generations after them. Then, rather than leaving the stones in the fireplace, where they could eventually become burnt, thus ending the curses, they would gather them up and scatter them all across the countryside. Curses have been there since the beginning, it seems, but over time, they have evolved to be more than just something you do to another person, as if they were weapons. Many of the stories that we tell on dark nights around campfires have more to do with the implications. You see, sometimes the horrible tragedies of life refuse to be explained away without the mention of a deadly curse.

When Prince Amedeo of Savoy told his father in 1867 that he planned to marry Maria Vittoria dal Pozzo, his father was enraged. Sure, she was of noble birth, but she was no princess, and she certainly wasn’t worthy of the son of a king. He was said to have cursed their union. On the morning of their wedding, Maria’s dressmaker committed suicide. Maria took the hint and found a different dress to wear. Later, as the bridal party made their way to the palace church in a grand procession, one of the military leaders fell of his horse and died right there, in the street. The wedding procession continued on, though, and finally reached the palace gates, only to find them shut. A quick inspection revealed the reason why: the gatekeeper was found in the gatehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. The death toll continued, though. Immediately after the wedding, the best man shot himself in the head. The wedding party headed to the train station, perhaps in an effort to outrun the curse, but when they arrived, the man who had drafted their marriage contract had a brain haemorrhage and died on the spot. He was soon followed by the station master, who somehow got pulled under the royal train carriage, and was crushed to death. The king apparently saw a pattern and recalled the entire party to the palace. While they were leaving the train, though, one of the nobleman fell beneath the same train car. A medallion on his chest, most likely a gift from the king, was pushed through his skin, stabbing him in the heart. Maria was the final victim of the curse, they say. She died in childbirth at the age of 29.

Timur the Lame, or Tamerlane as he was known, was the great-great-grandson of Genghis Khan, taking the throne in 1369. He was a vicious Mongol warlord and was known for his bloody military campaigns. He often built pyramids after his victories – not with stone, mind you. No, he preferred to use the heads of the defeated army, sometimes tens of thousands of them. He died in 1405, and I imagine more than a few people were elated at the news. He was buried in an area that we now know as Uzbekistan, and a large, jade slab was placed over his tomb as a safeguard. The stone was inscribed with a word of warning: “When I arise from the grave”, it said, “the world will tremble”. Some reports say that another message referred to a great battle that would be unleashed should his grave ever be disturbed. You see where this is going, right? In 1941, Joseph Stalin sent a team of Soviet archaeologists to look for Timur’s tomb. When the local Uzbek elders heard of the search and planned excavation, they spoke out in protest. They made reference to an old book that made it clear just how bad of an idea it was to open the tomb. They spoke of a curse. They spoke, but no one listened. On June 21st, 1941, the tomb of Tamerlane was opened, and his skull was removed. The very next day, Hitler’s forces crossed into the Soviet Union, beginning the largest German military operation of World War II. In fact, if the Second World War had a great battle, this was it, hands down. The body of Tamerlane was studied for over a year while the Soviet Union was torn apart and destroyed by Hitler’s army. All told, the Soviet Union lost 26.6 million men and women to the invasion, more than any country in human history. It’s unclear why, but in November of 1942, the Soviets decided to return Timur’s body to the tomb, complete with a proper, Islamic burial. Days later, the German invasion was repelled at Stalingrad, finally pushing them back to the West, and marking a turning point in the war. A turning point, some say, that was caused by the curse.

The idea of the curse is common throughout folklore, and many popular stories use it as a plot device: the cursed spinning wheel of Sleeping Beauty, Snow White’s cursed apple, and the cursed brothers of the seven ravens all come to mind. But there’s another example in Irish tradition that tops them all, however obscure it might be. There’s an ancient Norse work called the King’s Mirror that tells a fascinating story about St. Patrick. Patrick, of course, was known for his work spreading Christianity throughout Ireland in the 5th century, but he apparently did not always meet with success on his travels. According to the account, St. Patrick once visited a clan that lived in the southern kingdom of Ireland called Ossory. Like any other visit, Patrick’s mission was to bring his message of Christianity to the people there, but it appears that he struck out. The King’s Mirror goes on to describe how the people of the clan made every effort they could to insult both Patrick and the God he represented. Patrick, to his credit, carried on and tried his best. He preached the same message he always did, and followed the same protocol, meeting with the clan in their place of assembly, but the people wouldn’t hear him out. Instead, they did something that might seem incredibly odd to our modern ears: they howled like wolves. It’s not that they laughed at him, and it happened to sound like howling; these people literally howled at St. Patrick. The reason was incredibly logical. The totem, or spirit animal for this clan, happened to be the wolf. To them, they were just responding to the message of an outside deity with the sounds of their own. Now, this was pretty unheard of for St. Patrick, and the fact that this event was recorded in a Norse history book highlights just how unusual it was. But even more unusual was Patrick’s response to this stubborn, insulting clan. Clearly upset, Patrick stopped speaking, and began to pray. It was said that he asked God to punish the people of the village for their stubbornness. He wasn’t specific, but he asked for some form of affliction that would be communal, that would carry on, through the generations, as a constant reminder of their disobedience. According to the story, God actually listened. It was said that the people of Ossory were forever cursed to become the very thing they worshipped - wolves. But this curse followed a very specific set of rules: every seven years, one couple from the village of Ossory would be transformed into a wolf. They would be stuck in this form day and night, year after year, until the next couple would take over, transforming into wolves themselves. Part of the curse was said to be how the people of Ossory maintained their human minds while in the form of a wolf. But although they thought and spoke as humans, they were equally bound to the cravings of their new form; specifically, the craving for human flesh. In this way, the curse affected everyone, from the man and woman transformed, to the people around them who lived in constant fear of being attacked. Ever since that day, so the legend goes, the people of Ossory have been cursed.

There’s media hype, and then there’s grasping at straws. For some people, declaring someone or something to be cursed adds an air of mystery and drama. It’s the sexy bit, and sex sells, right? For example, the Kennedy family story is sad and tragic, but when we add a dash of curse, we elevate it to near mythic proportions. Other people, though, really do believe. Either they’ve experienced the sting of unexplainable misfortune, or they’ve watched the lives of people around them crumble for no discernible reason. The human mind wants answers, it demands them, it seeks them out. People love story, but only the ones with closure, and that’s what curses offer us. At the end of the day, curses help us make sense of a thing, or person, or place, that seems to be haunted by misfortune. They act like a walking stick for people having a difficult time staying on the path. They help us make sense of life. I can imagine life in the 6th century in Ireland was incredibly difficult, and it would make sense that, eventually, someone would begin to tell stories that tried to explain the harshness of that life, stories about a curse, perhaps. When someone failed to return from battle or a hunting trip, or even travel between two villages, it was hard to not have all the answers. Stories about attacks from local werewolves certainly did their part in explaining these disappearances. But they were just stories, right? Gerald of Wales was a 12th century historian who recorded something interesting. He had been sent to Ireland by King Henry II to record the local history there. According to him, a local priest requested his company while he was visiting. This priest sat down and told Gerald an amazing tale. According to the report, he had been travelling near the western border of county Meath, close to what would have been ancient Ossory, and had camped for the night in the woods. That night, with his fire burning low, someone approached him from the darkness beyond the firelight, and spoke. Obviously, the priest was frightened – he thought that he had been alone, but the voice of a man called out to him with great urgency. The man spoke of his wife, who was sick at home. He was worried, and wondered if this man of God might come, and at least perform last rights for her. Reluctantly, the priest agreed. He gathered up his belongings and followed the voice into the woods. They travelled a short distance, until they came to a large, hollow tree. There, the priest noticed two frightening things. First, there was something, or someone, lying inside the tree, presumably the sick wife. Second, though, he realised that the voice was not coming from a man at all, but a wolf. He was taken aback. How, he asked the wolf, was he able to speak like a man? The wolf’s answer was simple: centuries before, he said, his people had been cursed by a travelling priest, forever doomed to become wolves. The priest prayed over the man’s wife, he tended her illness, and the couple was gone by morning, never to be seen again.

This episode of Lore was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. You can learn more about me and this show over at lorepodcast.com, and be sure to follow along at Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr and Instagram @lorepodcast. This episode of Lore was made possible by you, listeners who deserve no curses. [Insert sponsor break]. Thanks for listening.

#lore podcast #podcasts #aaron mahnke #curses #werewolves #amedeo of savoy #stalin #tamerlane #timur the lame #the werewolves of ossory #folklore #ireland #italy #russia #transcripts #13

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wind-in-the-weirwoods · 7 years ago

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Alright, let’s do this. Obviously this is all speculative and wholly reliant on my own interpretation of canon events so far and what I’ve gotten from reading into set leaks and casting calls. So if you’re inoculating yourself from any spoilers just keep scrolling. If you’re interested, read more below the jump.

You’re free to disagree with my conclusions but I’m completely uninterested in debating the future of the Jon/Dany ship. I won’t acknowledge upset and/or insulting Jonerys shippers if they comment on this, sorry. I just don’t have patience for it. Find someone who does.

Episode 1

Tormund, Beric, and survivors from Eastwatch reach Castle Black and attempt a fighting retreat to Winterfell ahead of the Night’s King’s advance. Members of the Night Watch mutiny after the Wall is broken through, and some are taken by the Wights. Ed probably dies.

Daenerys, Jon, Tyrion, and her armada land at White Harbor. They receive word of the Wall’s falling from Winterfell and hasten to support the defenses. The Unsullied and Dothraki are marching up the snowed-in Kingsroad. Cold and illness threaten.

Jaime arrives in Winterfell ahead of Daenerys’ army and pledges his sword to Sansa, who is initially distrustful but accepts after Brienne appeals on Jaime’s behalf. Jaime warns Sansa of Cersei’s obsession with her and becomes anxious about meeting Daenerys with her father’s murder and the second Field of Fire lying between them. Sansa assures his protection.

Cersei fortifies King’s Landing as Qyburn develops larger anti-dragon scorpions. She receives word from Euron in the Free Cities that the Golden Company’s services are secured and they will return soon.

Episode 2

Daenerys, Jon, Tyrion, and company arrive in Winterfell to a cold reception. Refugees fleeing the Night’s King’s advance have stretched food supplies to their limit, and now Daenerys’ overland army has arrived to further sap resources.

Tensions begin to strain between the Stark-Targaryen alliance. Sam and Bran have difficulty getting Jon alone to discuss his parentage. Sansa struggles to have patience with Daenerys’ insistence on fealty and protocol in the face of so much work and privately harangues Jon for kneeling to and romancing her, but acknowledges it was the only way.

The Northerners and Knights of the Vale complain publicly to Sansa and Jon about sharing camp and supplies with the foreigners, much less kneeling to a Targaryen queen. Daenerys’ army struggles with the freezing North as disease spreads throughout their camp. Grey Worm becomes bedridden with frostbite to his feet. The Dothraki publicly complain to Daenerys about the weather.

A war council is held and the Stark-Targaryen leaders agree to meet the Night’s King in the open field, wagering on their greater command of terrain, dragonfire, and dragonglass to outweigh the disadvantage in numbers.

Episode 3

The Stark-Targaryen army sets out to fight the War for the Dawn, leaving Winterfell lightly defended. Grey Worm commands the defenses from his bed, while Jaime stays behind to protect Sansa.

However, the Golden Company and Euron surprise Winterfell with a night assault. The treaty-breaking attack razes Winterfell despite a fierce defense, breaking the walls. Sansa is captured as she is separated from Jaime in the fighting, who is taunted by Euron. Grey Worm is murdered after a last stand.

The Northerners debate battle strategy hotly with Daenerys, who doesn’t accept that her army is ill-suited to fight in the tundra. News of Winterfell’s attack reaches them. When debating whether to stay the course or turn back and attack Cersei, Daenerys lets slip that she burned the Tarlys in front of Sam. Furious, he reveals Jon’s birthright and challenges her leadership.

Sam: “I had no love for my father, nor he for me, but killing him? And my brother? That’s madness, Targaryens before you have fallen for less.”

Daenerys: “I didn’t kill your family, my children burned them. And you’ll join them if you threaten your queen again.”

Jon: “Burned them?”

Daenerys, suddenly feeling not-quite-in-control, demands Jon intermarry with her like the Targaryens of old to nullify his superseding claim to the Iron Throne. But Jon is pushed into a crisis of identity and lashes out, repudiating her, admitting his emotional manipulation, and storms off into the snow.

Daenerys: “We don’t have to be enemies. I love you. I believe that you love me. Let us make a union like our ancestors before us and restore the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon: “I don’t love you, Your Grace. I needed you. I needed your dragonglass and your… children. I wanted to think you were better than the man that burned my grandfather, but you’re not.”

Daenerys: “You don’t need to love me to serve me, then. Renounce your claim to the Iron Throne and order your men to kneel to me. March south, fight the woman who murdered your family, and serve a cause worth dying for.”

Jon: “The only cause worth dying for is ahead of us, not behind us. I’ve told you before it doesn’t matter who sits on the throne if all around them is ash and ice.”

Daenerys: “My people called me their Mother and trusted me to protect them. I failed them and failed Grey Worm. I will avenge his murder. Will you not save your sister? Your family?”

Jon: “I don’t know who my family is.”

Episode 4

Grieving the death of Grey Worm and her troops back in Winterfell, and scorned from Jon’s lies and manipulation, Daenerys turns furiously onto Cersei’s betrayal. She breaks off the agreement and sets flight for King’s Landing. Tyrion and Varys question her stability and decide that Jon is a better candidate to rule the realm, but Varys is burned alive before he can abandon Daenerys.

Cersei taunts Sansa as her captive, still blaming her for Joffrey’s death despite Olenna’s dying confession (“The wretched old woman tried to hurt me with her dying breath; I won’t allow it”). Sansa is kept in the Red Keep alone, under Gregor’s supervision, as Daenery’s army closes in.

Euron’s fleet defends the harbor against Daenerys’ warships, so she takes Drogon to burn the Greyjoy navy. Rhaegal spearheads the assault on the city gates. The Golden Company draws up against the Dothraki-Unsullied army.

On Pyke, Theon takes advantage of Euron's absence to stage a coup. The Ironborn smallfolk and petty lords are unsatisfied with Euron's rule - he neglects his duties as their leigelord to galavant the seas, wooing a distant queen. Rallying the oppressed, they free Yara and declare Euron unfit.

Qyburn's improved scorpions are an effective deterrent for the dragons, and the Golden Company's elephants initially repel the Dothraki and Unsullied. But dragonfire consumes the lower levels of King's Landing as each side seems destined to destroy the other.

Episode 5

Jon is confronted by his surviving friends: Sam, Tormund, Gendry, Beric, and Arya. They assure him that he’s their friend, family, and ally despite his father’s identity, and that he’s the only one who can rally the realm against the Night’s King and save Sansa.

Rhaegal falls in battle, shot through the heart from an oversized scorpion commanded by Bronn. His fall smashes the gates to King’s Landing. The Golden Company’s elephants break the Unsullied lines, but the Dothraki begin to sack the city.

Jon, confidence restored, resumes command of the Northern army. They salvage all they can carry from Winterfell and head south, outracing the approach of winter and the Night’s King. Theon and Yara arrive with ships at White Harbor to assist in the evacuation.

Euron’s fleet broken, Drogon panics the Golden Company’s elephants and breaks Cersei’s army. The Dothraki sack King’s Landing as it burns. Cersei abandons the Iron Throne, which is consumed by dragonfire, leaving behind her crown and fleeing the city through secret tunnels with Sansa in tow.

Episode 6

Daenerys watches from Drogon's back as the city her family built burns to ash. The Iron Throne melts from dragonfire, civilians die in the streets, and Cersei escapes justice. Unsure of her next move, Daenerys turns away from the ruined city and charred bodies to seek out Jon and Cersei.

The Northern army narrowly escapes the march of the dead thanks to the Greyjoy assist, but winter approaches faster than they can sail. Out of options, Jon decides to make a last stand at the Ruby Ford - a natural bottleneck that will force the wights into a funnel, giving them their only chance to isolate the Night's King.

Sansa tricks Cersei into heading to the Riverlands, forcing the disgraced ex-queen to acknowledge her long odds. Casterly Rock and King's Landing are ash and ruins, and the Southlands are no haven for her. Sandor, Arya, Jaime, and Brienne come upon Cersei's party and withered Queensguard. Sandor finally defeats Gregor and Jaime puts Cersei out of her misery.

The War for the Dawn begins. Jon's army is initially outnumbered and pushed back, but hold the line until Daenerys and Drogon carve a path through the dead on a suicide run towards the Night's King. They succeed in killing Viserion for good, but Drogon is mortally wounded and crushes Daenerys in his fall. Jon duels the Night's King and kills him, destroying the army of wights and White Walkers. He reunites with Sansa at the only piece of King's Landing not burned down - the Dragonpit. They wed, uniting the Northern Starks with the Southern Targaryens, and begin to rebuild Winterfell as the spring sun melts the snow.

Shortcomings

I didn’t get to address everything under consideration for the final season, which helps me appreciate just how large an undertaking this must be for D&D (for all their many, awful faults, they’ve really taken on a huge project).

For example, what is Tyrion up to in all this? What about Melisandre? Are we really letting Theon live this long just for a convenient/redemptive deus ex machina assist in the end? Sansa playing the damsel in distress *again* is lame as hell, but it’s all I’ve got.

I need war elephants on my TV, immediately. A small voice in my head is weeping about the ethics and working conditions of those beautifully intelligent creatures, but a louder voice wants to see them trample people and generally raise hell. Hopefully GOT can convincingly CGI them like LOTR did the Mûmakil.

This feels like it was wrapped up far too easily and cleanly. I guess it’s typically tragic for GOT if you’re into the Jonerys ship, but I’m not, so I’m not hurt by it. So I probably got 99% of it wrong and this will look awfully embarrassing in hindsight. Guess we’ll see in a year.

#actuallyjonsa #game of thrones season 8 spoilers #the night is dark and full of spoilers

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thetradeway · 3 years ago

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Session 47 7 Aug 2021: Black eyes, bloody nose, broken glasses, but he’s up there

Joe has been doing some housecleaning in roll20, so everything should be easier to find. Yay! I’m taking Kessler as Mina is away, and Matthew and Sophie are taking Gideon for now.

“Dammit Carl you have 49HP, why aren’t you a better zombie shield?”

We are on the path approaching Candlekeep. We see lots of other people also on the path; they are spaced out. This is so that the people nearest the gate can be asked questions by the guards without the people overhearing the answers, according to a smug Ardvack.

We make Perception checks; Tarragon and Ahleqs notice a tiny shape darting in and out among the people; as we look closer, we see that it’s a squirrel. It darts up to the group ahead of ours, and we hear a high pitched voice. Then it approaches us - its a red squirrel with tufted ears. It addresses Tarragon. (Ahleqs, excited: “Do you know Mr. Pickles?”) It scurries forward and produces a rolled scroll of birch bark, and thrusts it at her.

Tarragon produces a nut from her pocket to give it as thanks.

So Tarragon will be joining Dana and Shimmer for a midsummer celebration. (Today is midsummer, which is celebrated across the realms. We all have different experiences and types of celebration with which we are familiar.) Tarragon knows in gnomish society there is a festival called Highforge, where gnomes make and sell little contraptions. She also knows that the followers of Timora, the halfling goddess of luck, believe midsummer is a night for mischief and romance.

Ardvack was here for a Candlekeep Midsummer before - it’s like a festival with entertainers and bards and so on. He also remembers Waterdeep Midsummers as 'gaudy and unpleasant'. He was never invited to the Candlekeep ones, because he is gaudy and unpleasant.

Most of the others' memories of previous Midsummers involve viewing it as a time for love and courtship.

(At the mention of romance at the Halfling Midsummer, Ahleqs hunches a little bit as if to pretend he’s a really tall halfling. A dire halfling, if you will.)

Ahead of us, more than half the people queueing to get in to Candlekeep are turned away. We have a book that we are hoping will get us in; we all have forgotten who’s got it and there’s a few moments of fluffing while we find it in our inventories. Ahleqs finds it eventually - it’s the Tome of Bindings.

Usha is looking nervous. She is looking at the book that she’s brought. Ardvack asks her what her book is; it’s a collection of folk tales from her tribe.

As we get closer to Candlekeep we get a better look at it, and Ardvack tells us some stuff about it. We hear a faint chanting; according to Ardvack, the monks constantly chant prophecies.

Gathered by the gates are five figures in purple robes; these are the Avowed. They will interview each of us, and cast spells on us to see our intentions. They also use the Message spell. (Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.) We can stay for one tenday if we are admitted, and may not return within the same month.

We start hurriedly whispering to each other to get our story straight. Tarragon is here looking for a book that will help her cure her sister; the High Druidess told her there was a book here that belonged to Ethan Mahoni (sp?) who was an expert in magical sicknesses. This is his notebook she's looking for here in Candlekeep.

There is also a Mr Pickles related appointment - he will meet us here looking for information on the Shadow Weave. And definitely nothing else, Ardvack adds. Yup, that’s it, that’s for sure everything we’re here to do. No secret missions here, no sirree.

The party in front of us are turned away. One of the monks approaches us and asks what brings us here. We shove Ahleqs forward. He stumbles, can’t quite make eye contact. He clears his throat. “… Hellooo… Is Mr Pickles in?”

The monk looks at him. “Mr. Pickles?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Wait one moment.” He goes back to the monks and has a quiet word, then comes back to ask if Mr Pickles is expecting us. Ahleqs shows him the medallion that lets him summon Mr. Pickles. “We’ve got a book, alright?” He produces the book. “Feel the quality of that. Takes a pet, no praaaahblem.”

He makes a Persuasion check, with assistance from Ardvack. 11 total. We wait while Duncan tries to remember if he can use a Sorcery point to add a d4. He can, but he has to use two. “Finnnnneeee…”

12 total. The monks are amused by this pathetic persuasion attempt. They take the book and say they’ll check to see if they have it. Are we willing to submit to magical screening? Ardvack leans around Ahleqs and says he is technically an employee. What’s his name? (Timothy P. Fuckapple may make an appearance, if they don’t like Ardvack Darkspire.)

Do any of us (apart from Ardvack) have any intentions of robbing artefacts, causing trouble? (Kessler might. If she does, it won’t be premeditated so that won't get flagged.) Melaina is only likely to steal to order, she isn’t probably interested in just taking stuff in hopes that she will be able to sell it.

The monk comes back and says that Ardvack is on the records, but from 200 years ago.

“There was… oooh, an accident?” He was on a quest of discovery for the keep in a beholders’ lair, and it went quite badly wrong. Are there any elves here who might remember...?

The monks cast their spells on us. Then they come back; there’s an issue. Our book has been accepted, and none of us but Ardvack have bad intentions toward this place. The Darkspire family are friends of the Keep, and he was under their employ. The party are welcome here, but the Avowed believe he has bad intent. Ahleqs whips around with a ‘care to explain’ face and stares at Ardvack, who blusters.

He admits that he might bear a bit of a grudge after the botched mission. He demands to see the manager.

The monks are willing to allow him in to the Court of Air, if we keep an eye on him and if he submits to being watched by the Avowed. Ardvack goes purple. Melaina offers to muzzle him.

(Is there a BOBS list, and is his picture on it? We could send it to his dad.)

Are these terms agreeable?

Ardvack, turning deeper shades of purple with every passing second: “FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFINE!”

(So he was on his very first mission, and he biffed it so badly that 200 years have passed? Ardvack huffs.)

He is welcome as long as we treat the books with the proper care and respect. We are to be allowed to get at the books tomorrow, after the festival.

We pass through the Arched Gates to find the Midsummer festival being set up in the courtyard. Ahleqs starts looking for a little model of the Candlekeep as a souvenir.

We approach the Emerald Door. There is a figure in purple robes. “Welcome to Candlekeep. What are your names?” We give them. He calls a runner to show us to our quarters. We are to be given food and board during our stay here. Also, we don’t have to count today against our tenday, as it’s the Midsummer Festival.

We are led to the Hearth; it’s kind of a feast hall. There used to be an inn, but this replaced it. (For Ardvack it’s like going back to his old university and they’ve demolished the Student Union bar and put a Starbucks in its place.)

Winthrop is the bartender; he’s a little crude, describing the rooms as being 'clean as an elf's arse', but the prices are good. The monks shows us on to the House of Rest. Our rooms are simple and clean, well appointed.

Ardvack makes an Insight check after Ahleqs suggests he might want to bunk in with some of us. Anyone who might look out for Ardvack’s interests can do the same. (Tarragon does not.) Gideon thinks that if Ardvack tries to go off and be in a room by himself with Carl, the Avowed might go in to keep an eye on him.

Tarragon will bunk in whichever room Ardvack isn’t in; it ends up girls in one room and boys in the other - but the girls are getting a boy roommate. A little gnome introduces himself as Bilfiz Backlotos. The boys are in with a halfling barbarian called Gutpunch MacKenzie. Ardvack goes for an awkward head pat but stops short.

It’s around mid morning, and we can hear the bards start to play in the courtyard. Stepping out of our quarters, we see that the festival is getting underway. Drinking is already starting. There are people dancing, and stalls and games. We can make Investigation checks. There are knights jousting on horseback, and flyers saying that onlookers can take part if they wish. (There are clerics, and it won’t be as brutal as the real event.) There are magic contests and an archery tournament, something called Hang Five which is a team event involving a strange frame with sticks sticking out of it. There are also ads for an extreme pie-eating contest. Some events can be entered as a team. Teams who score the top points will compete in a tug of war to be crowned champions of the festival.

What should our team name be?

“Wee Carl and the Carlettes?”

We fluff around trying to think of a team name. Carl might have something, if he can communicate it to Ardvack. He writes down his suggestion and hands it to the person he deems the leader of the group - who is Kessler. “The Best Friends”.

Well that’s that settled then.

Tarragon queues to register our team name. She makes a Perception check - she sees the Avowed have put together a team, and another group of adventurers registering as The Slayers, and a thirds group (that she thinks is quite obnoxious) who’ve named themselves as “The Heroes of the Realm”. Tarragon snorts.

She puts herself down for the pie eating contest, and makes a note to sign Ardvack up for the jousting. Ahleqs might have a go at the magic contest. He must have one of two cantrips, which he doesn’t have, so he signs up for the pie eating instead. Gideon might go for the magic contest, and so will Tarragon. (Ardvack does too, to Tarragon’s annoyance.)

Kessler and Melaina will have a go at the archery. A few will have a go at the jousting.

We start with the archery. Kessler lets Melaina go first. She starts 40 yards from her target, and has twelve arrows she can fire. She makes 12 attack rolls, and will get a score for each one. Melaina does well, but Kessler does amazingly, and takes a little bow to the applauding crowd. Go Team The Best Friends!

Ardvack and Tarragon are each given a candle for the magic contest. Highs or lows? Ardvack chooses highs. Joe rolls a 5. Tarragon has to roll a d6, and Joe laughs. She ends up facing off against Ardvack; this should be interesting.

We enter into a ring, still holding the candles. Tarragon goes first, and rolls a 16 total. Divided by 2 is 8; that’s 8 D6s. Ardvack does the same and ends up with 3 D6s.

We use our magic to light the candle, but we have to extinguish our opponent's candle. Each participant rolls 2d6 from our pool. These are publicly known. (Roll in the chat) Tarragon 6 and 2, Ardvack 4 and 5. Tarragon puts her 6 on the attack. We then decide how many of our remaining dice to put on attack and defence, and declare the totals at the same time.

By the skin of his teeth Ardvack extinguishes Tarragon’s flame, because she put everything on her attack leaving nothing to her defence.

Tarragon has 7 d6 for round two; Ardvack has two. She beats him handily; her candle doesn’t even flicker, and she puts his flame out with ease.

Round three sees Tarragon with ten d6s and Ardvack has one; he blows out his candle and storms off. He tries to upend a table but doesn’t have the strength.

Tarragon is delighted.

Next we do the Hang Five - the team event.

Since Carl named the team (and we accepted him before we accepted Ardvack), we have Carl as our final member. Ahleqs goes after Ardvack, and mollifies him with beer before convincing him to come back.

(On drinks - there are halflings with alcoholic fruit syrups. A wizard is freezing water into ice and mixing it with the syrups. Delish!)

The weather is good so far; good, because it’s considered a very bad omen to have bad weather on midsummer.

The object of the game is to get all but two of our team members hanging on the board from the sticks that are poking out of it. We must throw each other. In the team kitty we have 1d12, 1d10, 1d8, 1d6 and 3d4s. One player must be thrown at a bar of the team’s choosing. They must hang on to the bar until five team members are hanging from the frame.

We are assigned a number for our weight, from one to three. The bars are spaced a foot apart from 8 to 12 feet high. We have 19 turns. We should choose who will stay on the ground and do the flinging.

Tarragon is strong but light, so she will help do the flinging and be the last person to be flung. She could Rage and get advantage, but she will need someone to punch her every so often. (Ahleqs reluctantly agrees to do this for her.)

We try to throw Carl onto the highest bar - we make it! He is in place! Next we throw Melaina to the next highest bar. We’ve only gone and bloody done it! Now Carl must make an Athletics check to see if he stays on his bar. He makes the check.

Now we fling Gideon at the ten footer; we fail very badly. He plops to the ground. (Ahleqs does Tides of Chaos, panicking, and is surrounded by faint ethereal music for one minute.)

We make another attempt to fling the Grease Wizard. This time we are only one point off; Gideon falls to the ground again. And again. Ahleqs does Tides of Chaos again, but it doesn’t help. Gideon falls again, and Kessler is helpless with laughter at this point. We try again. Carl and Melaina make their Athletics checks again.

Ahleqs, exasperated: “All we’ve got to do is throw a dwarf at a stick. How hard can this be?”

We miss again.

Melaina: “Is there anything I could cast to make this better?”

We miss again.

Oh boy. Gideon is starting to look like a butcher’s backpack.

We miss again. Ahleqs casts Mirror Image, from Tides of Chaos. Can the mirror image help us throw the dwarf? No.

Now Melaina and Carl fall from their bars, so we have to throw them back up as well. We miss with our first throw with Carl. Now we have nine turns left. We miss with Carl again.

We get Carl back up, yeah!

Okay, Melaina again next. The elf is up! Carl makes an Athletics check. He rolls low, but it’s enough.

Finally, we get Gideon up on the board! Black eyes, bloody nose, broken glasses, but he’s up there.

Five turns and two team members to go. We throw Kessler next, and she goes headfirst into the post and falls down. Carl falls from the bar.

We miss with Carl. Melaina falls from the bar with a nat 1, but Gideon clings on. (The joy of seeing Kessler plummet headfirst into the ground like a bullet spurs his strength.)

We get Carl back up again.

We fling Tarragon and miss. She gets a split lip, but it continues her Rage. She is laughing when she hits the ground. Carl gets a nat 20 on his Athletics check to remain clinging on to the bar; he is doing eyelid-ups.

We get Melaina on the board on the second to last turn. Carl and Gideon repeat their athletics checks. We could get one more on…?

We decide to lob Ardvack on the last turn as he’s only a slip of a boy. We turn to look at him in unison and then advance on him. We have already thrown him before we realise he was rolling the d12 for the strength checks. He sails through the air before face planting on the crash mat.

At the end of the game, we are the highest scoring team to fail the challenge. Yay…?

Duncan: “That is probably the best thing that Ahleqs has done in his life. That he has evidence of.”

We hand Gideon to the clerics on our way out of the ring. He’s a little concussed and isn’t exactly sure where he is.

Just jousting and the pie-eating. (Tarragon has added Ardvack’s name to the list for the jousting.)

The knights have been doing displays for show throughout the morning. The pageantry part is over for now, and they’re ready to start the actual jousting. Ahleqs remembers a pub conversation about affecting a horse’s performance by putting ginger in its bum; but he can’t remember if it makes them faster or slower.

Melaina, Carl, Tarragon, Kessler, (and Ardvack) have a go; Ahleqs decides it looks too terrifying. Melaina chooses Ardvack (who is hurried into a tent shouting ‘what?’) as her opponent. She will be provided with armour and a horse. They get three passes. They roll initiative, adding their initiative bonuses plus their animal handling bonuses. Melaina beats him, but not by enough to have advantage. They roll a d20, plus animal handling plus athletics.

Melaina scores a point by whacking him right in the chest.

Ardvack, wheezing: “I don’t remember signing up for this!”

Ardvack hits Melaina on the second pass, but Melaina shatters her lance and almost unseats him, scoring five points to his one.

Melaina scores poorly on initiative for the third pass, but he barely rolls better than her. Melaina hits him but he misses her; she has trounced him. Ardvack stomps off throwing bits of armour around. The crowd laughs.

Two tiny knights arrive on two tiny horses, and I play d&d with myself for half an hour.

Tarragon and Kessler tie the first round, scoring a point apiece. It’s tiny and adorable and everyone loves it.

Kessler wins the second pass. They are on 2-1 to Kessler.

Tarragon gets Advantage on her attack roll for the third pass. Kessler wins the third round in spite of it, shattering her lance. Kessler wins 7-2.

No sooner do we leave the stable, than a gong sounds for the pie eating contest, the main event!!

People start queueing in the pie eating tent. Our roommates are participating in this event, as well as a robust Avowed, the Dragonborn from the Slayers, and the smug looking half elf from the Heroes of the Realm.

Gideon, Ahleqs and Tarragon all take part (Ahleqs has loosened his belt and is doing preparatory lunges and stretches), but the others don’t. Ardvack is still sore; he’s had a horrible day.

Ahleqs makes an Insight check on the chef who brings in the pies; his name is Ogizax the Unpredictable. (Uh oh.) Ahleqs feels a kinship with him; he seems to be a magic user.

We start making CON saves. The DC will increase as we go. We have to roll d100s also, to see if the pies were normal or... not. Gideon has eaten a normal, delicious pie, as do Ahleqs and Tarragon. Four of our opponents have dropped out. The pies were delicious this round as well.

The gnome swallows his pie and he belches blue smoke. His belly swells to twice its size. The halfling’s belly starts yelling at him. Huh.

DC is 9; we all make it. Gideon disappears - his pie has teleported him to a location within five miles, and he is disqualified.

Tarragon crams the pie in her pie hole, only for it to evaporate; the DC for her does not increase for the next round. Nice!

Tarragon crit fails and pukes up all her pie. She’s not mad about it. Ahleqs uses Tides of Chaos, and disappears to the ethereal plane for six seconds. Luckily no-one notices because Tarragon is upchucking on the table.

It’s down to Ahleqs and the halfling; Ahleqs catches his eye and gives him a thumbs up. He passes the CON save, as does the halfling. Both the pies were delicious normal pies. (Gideon returns to the tent in a puff of smoke, looking annoyed. He’s out, but they give him more pie anyway.)

Ahleqs is knocked out in the next round. Just as well because the pie had energy from another pie which would have imposed Disadvantage on the next round. The halfling wins, and Ahleqs comes in second.

Kessler won the archery contest so she gets a prize - 12gp and 103gp.

Ardvack makes a Perception check - at Advantage, as he used to work here. He gets an 8. Still, he notices a bookmark sticking out of Gutpunch’s belt. It casts Magic Mouth on a book, reading it aloud for him. (He has an Audible subscription!)

The Best Friends have scored the most points, but we still must compete in the tug of war against the Heroes of the Realm. Both teams congregate in the Court of Air. (Ahleqs wants to know if casting Charm Person on one of the other team counts as cheating.)

Ardvack is sulking so he won’t take part.

We roll Athletics checks, add the totals and divide by the number of participants. Winning team pulls the other five feet toward them. Winning team must win three times in a row, pulling the other team fifteen feet over the centre line.

We win the first round!

Ahleqs, straining: “I’m doing physical exercise!”

We win the second round as well!

Ahleqs: “We’re so fucking strong!”

We wait while Joe adds the scores - we won the third round! We pull them straight over the line, and are declared Champions of the Festival.

Ahelqs: “I hardly had to cheat!”

We pull from the loot chests again and are crowned Kings and Queens of Summer. We can also have any book (from the approved list) copied and bound for free to keep. !!!!!!!!

Matthew remembers about Usha; did she get in? Ardvack makes an Investigation check. With a 22 he can see her in the crowd, cheering for us. Yay!

By this time the sun is starting to go down. We all make Perception/Investigation checks; everyone spots a large shadow in the sky; it starts small and gets larger and larger. As it comes into focus, we see that it’s Fidget on his giant owl!

He walks towards us, carrying a big hamper. “‘Ello strangers!” he hands us the hamper, which is full of gifts from Halfstone Coppice and Finkletoog - jams, alcohols and the like - to thank us for saving Halfstone Coppice. He nods to Tarragon. “I believe you have somewhere to be? Your carriage awaits!” He points to the owl.

“Cool! I’ll see you guys later!”

The rest of them stay to watch the firework display, with more dancing and drinking.

We can set about our business here tomorrow. Ardvack gets tired of being watched by the Avowed, and goes to bed in a huff.

Duncan: “I think that’s the first thing I’ve won in my life. That’s not Ahleqs saying that, that’s me.”

#dnd #thetradeway #campaign diary

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crzcorgi · 7 years ago

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She Will Be Safe

Catch up on Number 6 here!

Negan x wife Number 6 (reader - Y/N)

Y/N=your name

Ne - reader’s nickname for Negan

Warnings ~ Negan’s glorious language, a bit of smut, and a bit of angst

I apologize for the lack of fics lately, and for my less than stellar writing.

2000 words

Want on or off my taglist? Just let me know! Tags at the bottom

As I finished getting dressed, I grabbed my boots heading to sit on the edge of the bed next to doll.

“No funny business mister! We're both fully clothed now so let's leave it that way!” I couldn't fucking resist her when she became so bossy with me. I grabbed her by the waist, causing her to squeak.

“Come here baby girl.” I pulled her up and onto my lap, she dropped her knees to either side of me, straddling my legs.

“Ne, we should be heading downstairs, I don't want the Saviors all pissed off at me for keeping you from the meeting. I mean, I'm sure they're so overjoyed that I'm coming along on this run.”

She brought her tiny hand up and began stroking the side of my face. I love how she always has to be touching me like this. It's like fucking second nature to her, she's near me, she's touching me. Not necessarily in a fucking sexual way, although there are plenty of those instances. She likes to hold my hands, rubbing her small fingers all over my hands, my fingers, tracing my many scars. She loves to work her fingers thru my hair, scratching at my scalp. She'll play with my scarf, tying and untying it. Doll always bringing it up to her nose.

Fuck, I have it bad for this girl.

“Don't worry about those assholes sweetheart, it's only me you need to worry about.” I pulled her tightly to me, suddenly needing to have her as fucking close to me as possible.

I was nervous. Y/N hadn't been out of the Sanctuary safety in months. Fuck, I couldn't even remember the last time she'd been out. I knew she was capable, she was a fucking tough little thing, scrappy as shit.

But she was my girl, my doll, my wife. It was my fucking job to protect her. And here I was leading her right into fucking possible danger. And it had been awhile since she was in a situation where she had to take care of herself.

Fuck! What the fuckity fucking fuck was I thinking when I agreed to this shittin’ run?!

“Ne, where'd you go?” Y/N was clutching onto my cheeks, her face mere inches from mine. “You kind of zoned out on me, everything okay?” She was running her thumbs up and down my cheeks, that fucking sweet caring look in her eyes.

“Yeah, doll. Just thinking about this run.” I leaned into her, kissing her with everything I could, putting everything I was feeling into that one fucking kiss. I could feel her moan, vibrating my lips. My hands moving down to cup her glorious ass, squeezing tightly, lovin’ those fucking plump cheeks.

We flew apart when gunfire sounded.

“What the fucking fuck?!!! Baby girl, bathroom NOW!!! “ I watched her run to the bathroom. “Lock the door!” I heard it latch and flew out the door into the hallway. As I started down the hallway, Simon met me halfway.

“Jesus fuck! That's not from the fucking gun range!” I yelled at Simon as we headed for the freight elevator.

“No, it's at entrance. It's those fuckers from the valley.”

“Ohh hoo hoo! Are they in for a fucking surprise!”

We made our way to the entrance, the gunfire long stopped. As I opened the door and stepped out onto the loading area, I could see about a dozen or so vehicles parked just outside our fencing, the fucking fuckheads crouched down behind the cars.

“Well, what can I do for you?!” I spoke loud enough for those shitheads to hear me, without yelling.

“Negan!”

I leaned a bit towards Simon. “What's that fucker’s name?”

“William”

I cleared my throat. “William, my man, now what do I owe the pleasure of your company at my grand Sanctuary?”

“I think you know why we’re here. We are not going to stand by while you destroy everything we've built. Take everything we've worked for. You're just an overgrown bully, Negan. And we won't stand for it!”

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. “You won't stand for it? Okay. And what are you and your fucking army of pussies gonna do about it?” I looked at Simon, who just shook his head.

The so-called fucking leader stepped out from behind his truck. “You need to stand down, promise you won't come to our community ever again. And we will not work for you. Leave us alone!”

I ran my hand down my face. Shit I was so not in the fucking mood for assholes. One look at Simon and he knew what to do. As I turned to step back into the Sanctuary shots were fired.

I headed back upstairs, I needed to see that y/n was okay.

“Sir!”

“I turned to see Dwight running down the hall. “Some of them got inside, James caught a couple of them trying to release one of their members from the cells.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Dwight, how the fuck did they get inside?! Were the fucking Saviors too busy jerking each other off to see a fucking bitch who doesn’t belong here just strolling their Merry fucking ass down to the cells?! Why do I even fucking bother. Why don’t we just keep the fucking gates open? Let every fucking assholian loser just wonder inside?!”

“I don’t know Sir. I mean, we do our best…”

I grabbed him by the collar, “best isn’t fucking good enough. Fucking search this place, top to bottom. Make sure there are no more of those slimy shitheads from the fucking swamp roaming my halls. Got it? Because this time, you will be to fucking blame.”

I could see him swallow, hard. Fucking good.

I stormed down to the freight elevator, leaving Dwight to fucking figure out why and where the fucking hell the Saviors has gone wrong.

I needed to get to doll even fucking more now. Fuckers loose in our fucking home, she wasn’t safe. As I exited the elevator, I sped down the hall, Lucille swinging beside me. I was in a fucking mindset, just needing to get to my room quickly. So when I looked up and saw the door to our room wide open, I fucking flew into action.

Running inside right towards the bathroom, yelling for y/n.

“Y/N! DOLL!!! BABY GIRL!” No fucking answer, the bathroom door wide open.

I froze, I fucking froze. My y/n, my sweet doll. I collapsed, sliding down the bathroom door, realizing it was shattered into shards. I couldn’t think. What had happened?

“Boss? Negan, you in here?”

“Yeah, over here, Simon.” I could barely speak.

“So, Dwight said… Shit! What the fuck happened here?”

“She’s gone, Simon, I, don’t…FUCK!!!!” I stood up, swinging Lucille into the door remnants.

“Y/N was here? Okay, we’ll find her Negan. They couldn’t have gotten far.” I heard him talking on his radio but I couldn’t fucking move. I was leaning against the wall, trying to take in what was happening. How I once again had let down the woman I loved. Couldn’t even fucking protect her in her own home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, this is everything you do to keep us safe, Negan? Where are the trebuchets, the armored knights, battering rams, cannons? How about a moat?”

“You’re fucking joking, right doll?” I was pissed. She’d just come to the live here and I was taking her on a tour of the Sanctuary, something I usually left to Dwight. But I had plans for this sweet thing, and it involved impressing her. Which wasn’t going as I planned.

“No, now why would I joke about our safety? I mean, someone could possibly get by all those walkers, the electrified fence, the armed guards.” She looked up at me an almost frightened concerned look on her face. Then she fucking burst out laughing. “I am so sorry Negan! I was kidding you! I’ve never seen such safety precautions since the end.” She placed a hand on my arm, lightly rubbing. “I’m sorry, that was mean.” She let her hand fall away, stepping away from me. I couldn’t help my hand from touching where her hand had been.

“I understand you want to feel fucking safe. But don’t worry doll, you’ll always be safe with me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My sweet doll. I shook my head, knowing we would, I would, find her.

“Simon, do what you fucking do best. I’m going to find her.” I headed back out into the hall, heading towards the stairwell.

“Oh Neeegan!” Fucking Amber.

I turned to face her. “I don’t have time for your shit, Amber. What do you fucking want?!”

“Looking for Y/N?” She was walking towards me, twirling a piece of her long hair around her finger.

“YES! Did you see her?” I ran up to meet her.

“I did…at least I think it was y/n?” She brought a finger up to her chin as if she was thinking.

“DID YOU FUCKING SEE HER OR NOT AMBER?!” I grabbed a hold of her by her shoulders, Lucille dropped to the floor.

“Uh, yes, YES, I saw her…” Amber now visibly frightened. “A man took her, she was trying to fight him, but he was way too strong. They took the stairs.”

I grabbed Lucille and ran to the stairwell. Fuck, I’m coming doll.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Negan! I think we can make it upstairs!” She was panting hard, wanting this as bad as I did. She’d finally come on board as my wife and I couldn’t wait another fucking minute to consummate our fucking union of sorts.

I had pushed her against the wall in the stairs, my hand snaking up under her dress. “Spread ‘em baby girl.” She willingly obeyed. My fingers making quick work of her panties, ripping them from body in one jerk. I went right to her damp core, one, two fingers entering, my thumb twirling around her hard nub.

“Oh my GOD!!!”

“It’s just me, doll, Negan!” I snickered, going down on my knees, my face moving swiftly to her crotch, my hands pulling her dress upward.

“Neeegan…I don’t…think…”

“No need to fucking think, just feel baby.”

I continued my assault on her glorious pussy, my tongue darting in as far as I could go, her juices flowing down my chin. “Fucking sweet as honey sweetheart, fucking sweet.”

Holding her dress up with one hand, the other was rubbing her ass, squeezing and kneading the soft velvety flesh. I journeyed upwards, under the fabric soon reaching her tits, my fingers slinking under her bra to find a very erect nipple. I began rolling it between my thumb and forefinger, her moans and forward thrusts helping me know my ministrations were working.

Everything was new to us. I was learning what she liked, what fucking turned her on. What another woman enjoys may very well not be y/n’s cup of fucking tea. But she seemed so receptive to everything I tried. My kind of fucking girl.

“Negan… ohhhhh…People…could see…”

“Don’t worry baby, you’re safe with me. Come for me doll, let me feel you come undone.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Boss!” I was exiting the stars when Simon found me.

“They have y/n, Skinny Joey tried to stop them, but the fuckers were too quick. He said it was a black pick up, heading northeast.”

I continued walking to the main entrance. “That isn’t the direction their camp is, is it?”

“No, not sure where they’re going.”

“Well, I’m gonna fucking find out.” I reached the door, grabbing the handle which wouldn’t fucking budge. “FUCKITY FUCKING FUCKER FUCKING FUCK IT!!!!” I fucking lost it, smashing that fucking thing with Lucille. The door splintered, opening up to the outdoors, but I couldn’t fucking stop. I screwed up, fucking screwed up again. Every swing, every fucking hit, I was wishing it was me. I deserved to be the one taken, it should be me. I promised her, telling her, she would always be safe with me.

I moved away, down the stairs heading towards the waiting trucks. I fucking didn’t know what I was doing where the fuck I was going. I was on autopilot. I just knew I had to find y/n, bring her home to me, to fucking safety. And I was never letting her out of my sight again.

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dfroza · 4 years ago

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A story is how our Creator often related to the real lives of people.

to teach. to illuminate spiritual and eternal truth.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 16th chapter of the book of Luke:

Jesus taught his disciples using this story:

“Once a very rich man hired a manager to run his business and oversee all his wealth. But soon a rumor spread that the manager was wasting his master’s money. So the master called him in and said, ‘Is it true that you are mismanaging my estate? You need to provide me with a complete audit of everything you oversee for me. I’ve decided to dismiss you.’

“The manager thought, ‘Now what am I going to do? I’m finished here. I can’t hide what I’ve done, and I’m too proud to beg. I have an idea that will secure my future. It will win me favor and secure friends who can take care of me and help me when I get fired!’

“So the dishonest manager hatched his scheme. He went to everyone who owed his master money, one by one, and asked them, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ One debtor owed twenty thousand dollars, so he said to him, ‘Let me see your bill. Pay me now and we’ll settle for twenty percent less.’ The clever manager scratched out the original amount owed and reduced it by twenty percent. And to another who owed two hundred thousand dollars, he said, ‘Pay me now and we’ll reduce your bill by fifty percent.’ And the clever manager scratched out the original amount owed and reduced it by half.

“Even though his master was defrauded, when he found out about the shrewd way this manager had feathered his own nest, he congratulated the clever scoundrel for what he’d done to provide for his future.”

Jesus continued, “Remember this: The sons of darkness interact more wisely than the sons of light. Use the wealth of this world to demonstrate your friendship with God by winning friends and blessing others. Then, when it runs out, your generosity will provide you with an eternal reward.

“The one who faithfully manages the little he has been given will be promoted and trusted with greater responsibilities. But those who cheat with the little they have been given will not be considered trustworthy to receive more. If you have not handled the riches of this world with integrity, why should you be trusted with the eternal treasures of the spiritual world? And if you’ve not proven yourself faithful with what belongs to another, why should you be given wealth of your own? It is impossible for a person to serve two masters at the same time. You will be forced to love one and reject the other. One master will be despised and the other will have your loyal devotion. Your choice between God and the wealth of this world is no different. You must enthusiastically love one and definitively reject the other.”

Now, the Jewish religious leaders listening to Jesus were lovers of money. They laughed at what he said and mocked his teachings, so Jesus addressed them directly. “You always want to look spiritual in the eyes of others, but you have forgotten the eyes of God, which see what is inside you. The very things that you approve of and applaud are the things God despises. The law of Moses and the revelation of the prophets have prepared you for the arrival of the kingdom announced by John. Since that time, the wonderful news of God’s kingdom is being preached, and people’s hearts burn with extreme passion to receive it. Heaven and earth will disintegrate before even the smallest detail of the Law will fail or lose its power.

“It is wrong for you to divorce your wife so that you can marry another—that is adultery. And when you take that one you lusted after as your wife, and contribute to the breakup of her marriage, you commit adultery again.”

Jesus continued. “There once was a very rich man who had the finest things imaginable, living every day enjoying his life of opulent luxury. Outside the gate of his mansion was a poor beggar named Lazarus. He lay there every day, covered with boils, and all the neighborhood dogs would come and lick his open sores. The only food he had to eat was the garbage that the rich man threw away.

“One day poor Lazarus died, and the angels of God came and escorted his spirit into paradise.

“The day came that the rich man also died. In hell he looked up from his torment and saw Abraham in the distance, and Lazarus was standing beside him in the glory. The rich man shouted, ‘Father Abraham! Father Abraham! Have mercy on me. Send Lazarus to dip his finger in water and come to cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames of fire!’

“But Abraham responded, ‘My friend, don’t you remember? While you were alive, you had all you desired. You surrounded yourself in luxury, while Lazarus had nothing. Now Lazarus dwells in the comforts of paradise and you are in agony. Besides, between us is a huge chasm that cannot be bridged, nor can anyone cross from one realm to the other, even if he wanted.’

“The rich man continued, ‘Then let me ask you, Father Abraham, please send Lazarus to my relatives. Tell him to witness to my five brothers and warn them not to end up where I am in this place of torment.’

“Abraham replied, ‘They’ve already had plenty of warning. They have the teachings of Moses and the revelation of the prophets; let them hear them.’

“ ‘What if they’re not listening?’ the rich man added. ‘If someone from the dead were to go and warn them, they would surely repent.’

“Abraham said to him, ‘If they wouldn’t listen to Moses and the prophets, neither would they be convinced if someone were raised from the dead!’ ”

The Book of Luke, Chapter 16 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 24th chapter of the book of Job that rightly coincides with the above:

[An Illusion of Security]

“But if Judgment Day isn’t hidden from the Almighty,

why are we kept in the dark?

There are people out there getting by with murder—

stealing and lying and cheating.

They rip off the poor

and exploit the unfortunate,

Push the helpless into the ditch,

bully the weak so that they fear for their lives.

The poor, like stray dogs and cats,

scavenge for food in back alleys.

They sort through the garbage of the rich,

eke out survival on handouts.

Homeless, they shiver through cold nights on the street;

they’ve no place to lay their heads.

Exposed to the weather, wet and frozen,

they huddle in makeshift shelters.

Nursing mothers have their babies snatched from them;

the infants of the poor are kidnapped and sold.

They go about patched and threadbare;

even the hard workers go hungry.

No matter how backbreaking their labor,

they can never make ends meet.

People are dying right and left, groaning in torment.

The wretched cry out for help

and God does nothing, acts like nothing’s wrong!

“Then there are those who avoid light at all costs,

who scorn the light-filled path.

When the sun goes down, the murderer gets up—

kills the poor and robs the defenseless.

Sexual predators can’t wait for nightfall,

thinking, ‘No one can see us now.’

Burglars do their work at night,

but keep well out of sight through the day.

They want nothing to do with light.

Deep darkness is morning for that bunch;

they make the terrors of darkness their companions in crime.

“They are scraps of wood floating on the water—

useless, cursed junk, good for nothing.

As surely as snow melts under the hot, summer sun,

sinners disappear in the grave.

The womb has forgotten them, worms have relished them—

nothing that is evil lasts.

Unscrupulous,

they prey on those less fortunate.

However much they strut and flex their muscles,

there’s nothing to them. They’re hollow.

They may have an illusion of security,

but God has his eye on them.

They may get their brief successes,

but then it’s over, nothing to show for it.

Like yesterday’s newspaper,

they’re used to wrap up the garbage.

You’re free to try to prove me a liar,

but you won’t be able to do it.”

The Book of Job, Chapter 24 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, may 1 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about knowing God from a new True nature:

What is the goal of your relationship with God? Is it the hope of paradise where pleasures abound and all your desires are fulfilled? Yeshua taught that the purpose of a relationship with God was to discover divine life by knowing the truth of God revealed in him. He said to his disciples: "This is eternal life (חַיֵּי עוֹלָם) that they may know you the only true God, and Yeshua the Messiah whom you have sent" (John 17:3). Knowing God in this way means understanding his heart and character, and learning to become "mature" (i.e., τέλειον, “complete, whole, finished”) through your union with the Messiah (Col. 1:28; Eph. 4:13). Practically speaking we "put on" a new spiritual nature (our "new self") which is created after the likeness of God (כִּדְמוּת אֱלהִים) in true righteousness and holiness (Eph. 4:24). We know and believe who we are as God's beloved children (Rom. 8:29). This is a matter of faith, indeed, but it is also a matter of the will. We must line up our attitudes and emotions in light of the truth of reality...

Immature emotions are out of alignment with what is real, evidencing disordered affections based on illusions. "Putting away childish things" (1 Cor. 13:11) means surrendering or letting die (καταργέω) self-centered emotions and desires, letting go of self-pity or bitterness, and refusing to blame others. Spiritual maturity implies humility, denying yourself, a word that means to stop thinking about yourself (from α-, "not," +ῥέω, "to speak"), and living the truth by sharing God's redemptive vision and mission for others. We must be careful, however, not to drift away, since it is possible to "forget" the truth that once guided our way; and it is possible to become dull of hearing, shortsighted, and to stop growing in relationship with God (Heb. 2:1). Spiritual truth is not merely intellectual but existential: we must earnestly pursue (διώκω) our heavenly calling (Phil 3:14) and this requires the daily and ongoing decision to live before the LORD our God (Psalm 16:8). The invitation to "choose this day whom you will serve" (Josh. 24:15) implies that is your choice - and your responsibility - to draw near to God (James 4:8). We can do this by studying and memorizing Scripture, meditating, praying, and sharing our hope with others. Above all we must ask God for the gift of the Holy Spirit to "bear us up into maturity" (i.e., ἐπὶ τὴν τελειότητα φερώμεθα, Heb 6:1) so that we may learn from our Master who calls us to be joined to his yoke and learn from him (Matt. 11:29). [Hebrew for Christians]

4.30.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

May 1, 2021

Bruising the Devil

“And the God of peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. Amen.” (Romans 16:20)

This is an intriguing promise, suggesting that believers can somehow inflict bruises on the devil, who is perpetually seeking to “devour” them (1 Peter 5:8). This promise is a clear allusion to the primeval assurance of Genesis 3:15, when God promised that the unique “seed” of “the woman” would eventually “bruise” (actually “crush”) the head of the old serpent, the devil. This prophecy will finally be fulfilled in Christ’s ultimate victory, when Satan first will be bound for a thousand years in the bottomless pit and then confined forever in the lake of fire (Revelation 20:2, 10).

In the meantime believers, who also in a sense are the woman’s spiritual “seed” (Revelation 12:17), can repeatedly achieve local and temporary victories over Satan and his wiles by resisting him “stedfast in the faith” (1 Peter 5:9). If we resist him as Jesus did with relevant Scripture, then God promises that he will “flee from you” (James 4:7). Such local victories can be obtained over these dangerous teachers whom Satan is using (note Romans 16:17-19, just preceding today’s text) “shortly” in this manner, but we need to be continually alert against his recurrent attacks. The ultimate victory over Satan, of course, will be won only by the Lord Jesus when He returns, and we must “be sober, be vigilant” (1 Peter 5:8) until that time.

Whether we are aware of it or not, we must perpetually “wrestle...against the rulers of the darkness of this world” (Ephesians 6:12), who will be casting “fiery darts” (v. 16) against each believer. Finally, with the sword of the Spirit that is the Word of God (v. 17), we can even by God’s grace inflict spiritual wounds on Satan himself! HMM

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perfectackeracy · 7 years ago

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Shingeki no Kyojin chapter 98 review (+ theories)

This chapter marks the ending of volume 24 and finally ends up with the moment that was hyped at the beginning of the book, in chapter 95:

The highlight of the Liberio festival, the stage - Ch. 98

And what a festival it was! It’s probably the only chapter of the volume where Reiner spends a good time in company of the kids, where every event happened according to the plan... till the cliffhanger of the volume came to ruin the good mood.

Indeed, it’s one of the rarest cases where it’s hard to predict what’s going to happen next, because our now-protagonist was left in the dark since Eren surfaced in Liberio, triggering a bunch of unexpected events by his mere presence... just like Grisha did when he came inside Paradis. Because hey, the idea of hope and prosperity for Mainland Eldians wouldn’t be funny to envision if literally everything went as planned!

Looks like Eren isn’t in position to attempt anything funny. He’s got what he wanted in Liberio and can return to Paradis. At best, we’ll see another timeskip of reorganization before sailing on Paradis, at worst, someone interferes against Eren or Eren does something stupid and the mood is already ruined before the operation even starts.

T’was a nice chapter with content definitely worth talking about.

The cadet batch

The future of Marley

The Yeager’s family reunion

Willy Tybur

The basement meeting

Key points

Follow me under the cut!

Not really a WTF CR, but one translated panel in particular is outright bizarre and gives a different interpretation of the whole scene.

“How we’re feeling?” Looks like they were rejoiced at the idea of beating Gabi up instead of complaining about the racket for a foot race. Not really cool for Gabi.

Oh and also...

Wat is coherency

Seriously, one time it’s Liberio, the other time Rebellio... just pick a correct translation...

Moving on the group who had quite a fair load of spotlight in this chapter…

The cadet batch

The cadets as waiters - Ch. 98

If anything, this chapter highlighted the four kids a lot, starting with Falco beating Gabi at an endurance race. I guess playing deliveryman while drinking the freedom kool-aid for a month helped a lot. We also got to see how the four kids reacted with each other differently. Previously it was as a group of four, but this chapter denotes the individuality of certain relationships.

Gabi loves when the Udo and Zofia duo sides with her and holds influence and authority over them. However, the duo cheered when Falco beat her for the first time. It goes to show she was known as the undefeated one. As important as her grades were, her character paints her as the dominant figure: she’s authoritative and dynamic, and really can’t stand competition. That’s why she treats her relationship with Falco as rivalry, and thinks he’s only there to grab the merits, when his brother already got some.

Gabi rejecting Falco - Ch. 98

Obviously, this is not what Falco intended at all. He doesn’t think he’s up to become a warrior in the first place, but only gets in the way of Gabi’s glory to protect her, because he loves her that much. More than restoring the family’s honor or going on Paradis, all he does is exclusively for the sake of the girl he loves. Between that and his compassion for war victims, he truly behaves like the cinnamon roll of the group. He’s also a bit naive: getting friendly with a stranger and even considering him his friend, truly unaware of his real motives. Falco puts so much faith in him, he’s even separating from the main group to pick him up at the festival. Eren became his confident and lays on him discussions he can’t have with others. Not even Gabi or his own brother.

Eren’s (and Reiner’s) legacy - Ch. 98

Despite that, Eren rubbed on him a little too much. Would he keep the same cool face if Gabi ends up rejecting him too often or if he grows up and realize it’s not worth it? Looks like he’s heading for the wall of a brutal realization, namely that his new friend isn’t the man he thought he was or… worst of the cases, if Gabi dies. Gabi dying would also break Reiner even further.

So far, Gabi and Falco are the moving elements of their group of four, while Udo and Zofia tag along; between Gabi and Falco, Gabi is the more leader-like, wanting to put Falco in his place. Falco’s reasons for going on is exclusively for Gabi.

The other two, Udo especially, had their moments in this chapter.

Gabi supervising Udo and Zofia - Ch. 98

Especially around Gabi and the preparations for the festival. Zofia was adorable and she’s definitely nailed as the weirdo of the group after 93. She makes off-topic statements in contrast of the actual mood, which adds a nice lighthearted touch. She has the chilliest temper of the whole group, being absentminded most of the time. The ice to Udo’s fire.

Udo’s struggles have been highlighted in this chapter. We’ve learned his family moved from another internment zone from another country and the struggles he faced there were far worse than in Liberio. That explains why he was constantly worried about the reputation of Eldians in the world and why he’s the most skeptical of Marley’s treatment of Eldians. In the corner of my heard, I thought about him having similar traits to Annie, particularly in their cynicism and their tendencies to lash out and go with the flow. Annie has a tendency to run away, physically and emotionally. Not sure what Udo would do in war conditions on his own, but he does lash on other things and other people... unintentionally.

Udo getting pissed at the guests - Ch. 98

Of the group, Udo’s the one with a hot temper: almost squeezing Falco’s head when he thinks about how incompetent Marley��s navy is, kicking town property when he thinks about the MEU survivors demonizing Eldians further and in this chapter, he almost gave in to the provocation from the guests talking behind his back, making him spill wine on that Touyou noblewoman.

The Touyou noblewoman - Ch. 98

And luckily for him, she covered him up. This scene served at the same time to introduce the Touyou clan, directly inspired from Japan, and their mark (the same one on Mikasa’s wrist) and to show strangers can be kind to Eldians. The latter serves for Udo’s development, considering he was the most hopeless for the festival.

The four of them shone as a true group of friends hanging out during the festival where the cultural gates opened to Liberio for the first time. The kids had their fun and could have their taste of freedom for the first time. Tasting new foods, listening to music, viewing other people… They all were in the mood to party and that was the most lighthearted moment of the chapter. And who can forget that tragic moment leading to the death of Reiner’s paycheck?

“Papa, can we have some pastries?” - Ch. 98

It’s adorable how Reiner hangs around the kids during that festival. Everytime he has a free moment, he hangs around the kids, and everytime he does that, you get fatherly vibes from him. Towntrip in Fort Slava, paying the kids’ food at the festival... despite being riddled with depression and PTSD he spoils them rotten when he can.

Will to live restored - Ch. 98

Because those smiles restore his faith and give him a reason to keep going. That’s more important than his paycheck. It was also worth it for his cousin: she partied too hard but felt at least things were changing, due to the recent events following the peace treaty with the Middle-Eastern Union. What she doesn’t know is why Willy showed up and she likely doesn’t know about Paradis’ operation taking place soon. In chapter 91, she wanted to get the Armor to get her chance at crushing Paradis, but now that it’s confirmed Reiner will be going there for the last time, I’m not sure how she’ll take it. Would she let go? Would she go through an existential crisis? Would she die before knowing it?

Nothing’s going to go well for the kids, will it?

Colt and Zeke playing catch - Ch. 98

Lastly, I wanted to talk about Colt. Despite hanging with the warriors rather than the kids, Colt had his caring moments, especially about him not wanting Falco to be selected for the Armored Titan. As the official big brother figure of the cadets, him not being shown in group with them makes him detached from them. The other warriors except Zeke are around his age, but their ranks are different, so I feel like he’s a bit awkward around them.

Not only that but I have the feeling he’s… pretty much a trained regular for the future warchief. In 91: his ideas got turned down by Commander Magath. In 93, he feels like he can’t measure up to Zeke’s abilities. In 95 and onwards, he remains pretty much in the background: Porco and Pieck contributed to the discussion more often.

Zeke is particularly attached to his successor, inviting him to play catch with him. Additionally, Zeke must have helped him ascend to the rank of warchief considering the fates of the Yeager and the Grice family are connected: they were both tarnished by the actions of Grisha and Uncle Grice respectively and as Grandpa Yeager states, they had no choice but to send anybody available in the military.

The future of Marley

Magath and Willy discussing about the future of Marley - Ch. 98

Magath and Willy were talking in metaphors, to refer to the military officials as “the home”. The “expansion” refers to the recruitment campaign and the “demolition” refers to how much generals Magath plans to fire, especially after the morning reunion. He also referred to “usable posts” like Reiner and Zeke, and the “sneaking mice” as Eren.

The most shocking thing of the chapter is how quick the current Marley officials have been dismissing Reiner’s intel under the pretense Eldians know less. Between the start of the chapter and the commentary about their navy, making child warriors and any strategy that isn’t titan fighting, the officials are quite incompetent. Both Porco and Pieck made sneaky remarks about it.

If anything, it’s a good thing Zeke started this plan: by allowing Magath and Willy to take the reins, they can restructure the whole army before they launch an assault on Paradis. I’m giving at least a two-month timeskip before they launch an attack, making it three months in total since the end of the conflict with the Middle-Eastern Union. This is the same timeskip between the battle of Trost and the battle of Shiganshina. And at the end of the first month, from Eren and the others’ point of view, we figured out who the traitors were, learned a bunch of information and overthrew the previous government. Here, Zeke, Willy and Magath made everything possible to orchestrate a revolution. In the meantime, the chapter ends with Eren, the mole, revealing himself.

When you think about it, from the FT arc to the end of the Uprising, the SC, under the reins of Erwin, hunted the hidden mice (RBA) and put in place a government suiting their needs, with a puppet leader (Historia) for one particular campaign: retaking Wall Maria. Replace Erwin by Zeke and Paradis by Marley and you’ve got the same goals.

The Yeager family reunion

Eren playing with a baseball - Ch. 98

…Though it can hardly be considered as one, when the only contact Eren made is with his brother, through letters. His grandparents aren’t aware their other grandson was at the hospital.

A month passed since Eren asked Falco to send his first letter. The dialogue implies Eren and Zeke have been conversing for a while. Zeke’s line about being a brother and his face implies he started sharing the sentiment only recently, and overall, there’s this glove and baseball. The two of them have been conversing for a while.

Eren’s presence has been revealed by Zeke, indirectly, to Magath. Whatever Eren is up to, he’s already under suspicion and thus his movements are limited. I don’t think we’re up to see a clash between the warriors and the Advancing Founder in Liberio. Especially when Eren will eventually return on Paradis, because he got what he wanted: Zeke’s trust, allowing to come closer to him, because he’s the missing ingredient for a fully-functioning coordinate. And Zeke’s royal blood is of course, unknown from both sides. It can mostly be used as a means of blackmailing. Or worse, forcing Zeke to eat his brother so his mind will be savagely hacked by two lines: Yeager and Fritz. That or Zeke only revealed his royal blood to a couple of trustworthy individuals so the correlation between his blood and the royal blood can be falsified...

C’mon, it doesn’t take a brilliant mind to figure this shit out… - Ch. 93

But more than his brother spilling the beans on him, Zeke is rather optimistic about Eren coming in Liberio. He still communicated with him and offered him baseball equipment, so he doesn’t get bored at the hospital… all of that instead of ratting him out. After all, he still carries the Founder and everybody at the strategic table knows it. Yet he lets Eren act as he pleases. The reason for it is simple:

“Someday… I’ll come to save you” – Ch. 83

And it looks like he didn’t even have to come in Paradis to get him. He directly fell into his hands! How convenient…

The sensitive side of Zeke wants Eren to be free from the brainwashing his father inflicted him. He wants to believe Eren has seen the light in some way and thought he could understand what he has been through. What Zeke saw in Shiganshina was a naïve boy who was misled by his father throughout his life, because he himself was forced to go to the warpath since birth. What he doesn’t know is Eren being closer to his father than he thought. A while ago I suspected Zeke to lose and die because he took his family matters too close at heart. It looks like it hasn’t gone off the picture yet.

The rational part of Zeke still wonders why would Eren show up now. What could possibly make him move now where everything is going smoothly? He’s conscious that what describes Eren’s condition is “brainwashing” and nobody gets out of it easily. It seeps into your brain long enough so your perspective on reality is fooled. I think Zeke will realize way too late that Eren’s brain isn’t wired like that.

Grandpa Yeager also met his grandson in this chapter. While the former is completely unaware of his real identity and motivation, the latter knows everything, from Grisha’s pint of view. He felt all the disgust Grisha had for him when he “bowed down to his masters” when Fay died, how Grisha inherited the Yeager clinic, how morbid he looked when Grisha was cuffed and taken for interrogation and how Kruger explained how he didn’t want to lose any more of his family. Eren understands the situation in which his grandfather has been, and despite that…

“Regrets…? It seems… You have your own about your family.” – Ch. 98

He managed to strike an important nerve. He’s unfazed by what he did, because his actions were intentional but at the same time it’s sad to see Grandpa Yeager is still haunted by Fay’s death and Grisha’s actions. Those actions made him lose his children and the grandchild is condemned to a life of war and a short existence to repay the Yeager name.

Without any further addition, Eren mixes in the crowd for the upcoming festival, where he’s meeting the last survivor of Paradis’ operation.

Willy Tybur

Willy captivating the crowd - Ch. 98

Part of why I loved this chapter is because of Willy’s… willingness to cooperate with the plan. After shaking his hand with Magath’s, the two of them started to occupy their roles, and Willy finally stepped out of the balcony to join the crowd. As the ruler of Marley, he holds the belief it’s a nation for Eldians and Marleans. However, taking the first step to put them on an equality foot isn’t obvious.

Willy taking a new role - Ch. 98

There’s the weight of the time and the generations crawling on Willy’s back, but also the ascending hatred of Eldians from the world, and the alignment of the diaspora with the vow of renouncing authority to serve the former oppressed people in their wars, and stay isolated in internment zones. Despite that, he’s handling the international scene quite well. Many leaders from the world knew him since he was a child, like Ogweno, Nambia and that MEU ambassador.

Willy saving the night - Ch. 98

He’s also a charismatic leader. When the Marlean ambassador failed to capture the attention of the people, Willy saved the night by promoting his production, using an elaborated speech. The whole crowd cheered him up. I’m curious about his acting talents.

And of course, probably the most peace-ruining moment of the chapter…

The basement meeting

Eren and Reiner meeting after 4 years - Ch. 98

Considering everything that transpired since last chapter, it’s quite a shock. And just casually on Eren’s part moreover. I’ve written about why Reiner was traumatized in my last review and here it is, blowing in his face. Meanwhile, Eren looks so nonchalant it’s disturbing to say the least. Rubbing Reiner’s wish to return home in his face when he lost all his companions and showing there out of the blue, completely unaware of what’s going on.

They’re both in a situation where neither any of them can fight or trashtalk, considering Falco’s in the same room. Either Reiner will send Falco off to have an adult talk with Eren, either Eren will be vague about anything that transpired on Paradis, because the festival is starting soon, and they only have a couple of minutes before returning to their positions.

Eren wouldn’t gain anything from Reiner’s side, since he observed him for a while. Reiner however, would like to bombard him with ask: why are you here? How did you get here? How could you mix in the crowd? What happened to Annie and Bertolt? What did you do to Falco? What the fuck is this greasy, dirty hobo look?

Whatever is going to happen between the two, I’m not going to like it at all. I’m expecting Eren to make me feel uncomfortable depending of what he’s going to say to Reiner and since he asked Falco to bring Reiner down there, he ought to get something from him. Either blackmail or false promises. We’ll see.

Key points

It’s been a month since the victory of Marley over the MEU

The Marley government is an “unruly mob”

The internment zones are scattered all around the world

Zeke and Eren have been communicating a couple of times and Magath is aware of Eren’s presence

Grandpa Yeager works at the hospital and is unaware he had a conversation with his other grandson

The man who helped Grisha getting in the revolutionary group is Uncle Grice

Colt and Falco’s motivations to get in the army were to repair the Grice family’s honor

It’s likely Zeke did the same too, for the sake of his grandparents

The “Touyou” clan comes from the nation of Hizuru

Willy encountered leaders of the world when he was young

Liberio was the former capital of the Eldian Empire and the place of birth of Ymir Fritz

Clams, clowns, accordions, ice creams, pizza and wraps exist in SnK’s world

Reiner’s paycheck is high enough to treat four kids with snacks

It was quite a long analysis. Hope you enjoyed it and see you next chapter!

EDIT: This ask is a good addendum on how Zeke likely perceives Eren.

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